


Vengeance in Blood

by Dementadoom



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Comics), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (IDW Comics), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Raphael, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Beating, Blood and Injury, Broken Shell, Brotherly Love, Coma, Fights, Gen, Healing, IDW Comics, Leonardo takes responsibility for everything, Medical Procedures, Michelangelo grieves, Near Death, Paralysis, Revenge, Vengeance Arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 48,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementadoom/pseuds/Dementadoom
Summary: Donatello is left broken and near death after a brutal attack by Rocksteady and Bebop. His grief-stricken brothers try to carry on the battle without him, but find that three of them are not enough. As they try to care for a brother who cannot be healed, they learn that their final battle against the Foot is approaching.As Shredder is seeking vengeance against them, they will seek vengeance against him.





	1. Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place in the excellent IDW comics continuity of TMNT, and if you haven't read them, you should do so right now. They are awesome. WARNING: This takes place after the notorious Issue 44, and will contain a lot of spoilers for what happens in it. So if you don't want to be spoiled, go read the series and come back after you've reached that point.
> 
> This is an AU version of the Vengeance arc (issues 45 to 50) where Donatello's mind was never successfully placed in the Metalhead body, and thus his brothers are forced to fight on without him. Some things about it will be the same as in the comic series, others will be very different.

His hands were still stained with blood. He hadn’t noticed it when he and his brothers had moved Donatello to the cooling unit, but now it was all he could see — dark stains marring his green skin.

Blood. Blood. Donnie’s blood. It seemed to be everywhere. The lab reeked of blood; it had pooled on the floor, had fallen in a stream of tiny scarlet droplets across the concrete as they carried him, as gently as they could. He could smell it in the air, lingering long after Donnie had been removed from the room. 

It had been over an hour since Fugitoid and Harold had vanished into that room. Perhaps two hours. Leonardo had no idea what they were doing to Donnie, or if all of it was in vain. But he clung to the hope that the alien robot would know something that could save his brother. Anything. 

Leonardo had never felt so useless in his life. Even when victory required something more technical — more something in Donnie’s field of expertise — Leonardo had always been able to find something to do. Now, there was nothing he could do but wait. Wait and pray. Wait and dread whatever might come next.

He glanced up at the massive steel door to the cooling unit. Mikey had been crouched beside it ever since Fugitoid had returned, whispering prayers into his clenched fists. Raph sat opposite it, as if staring down an enemy that he was itching to fight, his reddened eyes still gleaming with rage. Alopex was sitting near him, her face still full of sadness, while Angel was anxiously pacing the floor.

Leonardo didn’t feel either desperation or rage. Mostly he felt numbness seeping through his spirit, keeping him from responding at all. If Donnie were awake, he would probably say that Leo was in shock from what had happened… but he wasn’t awake. 

All Leo could do was roll back time to when they had first arrived at the lab, the burst of exultation that had filled him as he prepared to tell Donnie of their success. The Foot Clan was decimated. Krang was gone. And though Burnow Island had been terraformed, the rest of the planet was safe from the Technodrome. They had done it. They had won.

But all that joy had withered away as they saw Donnie, his head resting in Splinter’s lap, a pool of deep crimson blood under his broken, lifeless body. His shell had been smashed open like a rotten pumpkin, and he had been left there to die, to bleed out like a slaughtered animal. Alone. In pain. Frightened of what had happened to him…

Leo swallowed hard, and his bloodstained hands clenched into fists. Harold Lillja had told them what had happened before Fugitoid returned. The normally acid-tongued scientist had stammered out what he had seen from a distance, from behind the safety of a computer screen. Leo knew it was irrational to be angry at the man for being safe while his brother was beaten to death, but a flicker of rage was stirring up inside him at the thought.

Shredder had left Bebop and Rocksteady there to guard Donatello, and to kill him if he betrayed the Foot. Maybe he would have ordered Donnie’s death regardless of what had happened. Leonardo hadn’t known of this — no one had, except Harold and Donnie.

And those monsters had done their best. Those beasts — the towering brutes that had barely been stopped by a building falling on them — they had attacked Donnie and done their best to kill him. Leo had since taken a look at the security footage from the lab, and he was sickened by what he saw. His brother had tried to flee, tried to fight. But they had smashed him with computer components, punched him with their enormous fists and immense strength, crashed him into concrete pillars, and finally Rocksteady had smashed a sledgehammer into Donnie’s shell, cracking it wide open.

And now all they could do was wait. Wait and wonder. Splinter had been gone for the past few hours, meditating in a dark corner of the laboratory. Leonardo suspected that he knew what his father was doing — trying to call Donatello’s soul back before it was lost to them forever. Healing his body was useless without his spirit choosing to live.

Suddenly the steel door swung wide open. Fugitoid was standing there.

For a moment, he stared intently at Leonardo, as if trying to unravel a puzzle. Then he pointed a metal finger.

“Leonardo, I need your help. Quickly!”

Leonardo didn’t hesitate. 

“Hey, what the hell is going on-” Raph shouted.

His voice was cut off by the clang of the door shutting behind Leo. 

He took a deep breath of the cold air, steeling himself for whatever he was about to see. Donnie was lying there at the other end of the unit, limp and lifeless on a rolling hospital bed, with a sallow-faced Harold lurking behind him. Oddly enough, the Metalhead robot was crouched down beside the bed.

“What is it? What happened?” Leonardo said.

“I attempted to transfer Donatello’s consciousness into the Metalhead robot. Come this way.” The robot pulled Leo gently but firmly to his brother’s side.

“You… you did what?”

“It didn’t work,” Fugitoid said despairingly. “Donatello’s life — his soul, for want of a better word — is too far removed for the process to work. He’s — unstable.”

“How can I help?” Leonardo said.

“My sensors indicate that you have the same blood type as Donatello. He’s suffered massive blood loss as well as internal damage, and reviving him will be next to impossible without a transfusion.”

The robot wheeled a large, complicated-looking machine covered in a thin whitish metal, with many long hoses and needles sprouting from it like a squid’s tentacles. Leonardo wasn’t sure, but he suspected that it wasn’t a machine from Earth - perhaps one of those machines the Fugitoid had brought from Burnow Island.

“Take as much as he needs,” Leo said grimly, holding out his arm. He almost said _Take it all if he needs it,_ but knew that it wouldn’t help.

Fugitoid needed no further urging. He pressed his metal finger against Leonardo’s arm until a vein rose under his green skin, and slid one of the machine’s many needles into the flesh of his upper arm. A thin stream of dark red ran down the tubing to the machine itself, which whirred faintly.

Leonardo let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, and glanced up at Donatello. Fugitoid was bent over his brother, arranging other tubes and sensors that littered Donnie’s arms and torso.

“The transfusion has begun,” he said at last, stepping out of the way. Another tube from the machine had been inserted into Donatello’s arm, and the blood — Leonardo’s blood — was streaming into his body.

“Damned useless,” Harold muttered, shaking his head. “I feel damned useless.”

Leonardo kept his eyes intently fixed on Donatello’s face as his blood flowed into his brother. Some sign of consciousness, some hint that he wasn’t as lifeless as he looked. But the minutes ticked by in silence, and Donatello remained pale and limp, his face haunted by a ghostly echo of the pain he must have felt.

Suddenly, Fugitoid shut down the machine, and deftly slid the needle from Leonardo’s arm.

“What? Why are you stopping?” Leonardo said, confused.

“We’ve already transfused more of your blood than it was safe to take,” the robot said, removing the needle from Donatello’s limp arm.

“You can’t stop because of —“

“Leonardo,” Fugitoid said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Please trust my judgement. If Donatello’s internal injuries are not as bad as I first feared — if he doesn’t currently have internal bleeding — then you may have greatly increased his chances of survival.”

Leonardo took a long shuddering breath, and moved closer to Donnie’s bed. His brother looked… looked _wrong_ like that. Not just sick and still — it was far worse than that. Bruises mottled his olive skin where Rocksteady and Bebop had struck him, and thin streams of blood had dried on his chest and throat. His broken shell didn’t seem to be bleeding anymore, but somehow that made the silence, the stillness even worse. 

Donatello didn’t look injured. He looked dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are welcome and encouraged.


	2. Broken

“Can he hear us?” Leo said hesitantly.

“I don’t know,” Fugitoid said softly. “But if he can, I’m sure he would be glad to hear you.”

Leonardo took another step closer, and clasped his fingers around Donatello’s limp hand. “Donnie,” he whispered. “If you can hear me—“

But the quiet of the unit was shattered by a loud, rasping gasp — a gasp that came from Donatello. His fingers convulsively clamped around Leo’s hand, as his eyes fluttered open.

“Donnie!” Leonardo breathed.

Donatello’s chest heaved as he drew another harsh breath, one that hitched in his throat from pain. Above his head, the monitor beeped loudly with suddenly rapid heartbeats.

Without thinking, Leo wrapped his arms around his younger brother, shifting him close to his chest so that Donnie’s head was cradled in the crook of his arm. But he had the presence of mind to keep his hands carefully away from the gaping hole in Donnie’s shell, with its knife-sharp edges and raw bloody flesh. Agony was etched in Donnie’s face, the gasping breaths from his chest, the wild darting eyes— the last thing Leo wanted to do was cause him any more pain.

“Donnie,” he whispered soothingly, as if speaking to a child woken from a nightmare. Never mind that the nightmare was all too real. “It’s gonna be okay, Donnie — you’re safe—“

Donnie didn’t seem to hear him at first. But slowly his gasping breaths slowed, and his eyes slowly settled on his brother’s face.

“Leo,” he whispered. 

“It’s me, Donnie.”

“T-Technodrome?” 

Leonardo smiled faintly, and brushed the bloodstained tails of his brother’s bandana away from his face. “It’s all right now, Donnie,” he said softly. “We got to Burnow Island just the way you said, and we — we managed to stop Krang. He’s gone now. The Technodrome is shut down — it’s not going to hurt anyone. We did it, Donnie. _You_ did it.”

A ghostly smile crossed Donatello’s face, momentarily eclipsing the pain that still etched his features. He closed his eyes, as if savoring the thought. “We did it,” he murmured. “We did it…”

“All because of you, Donnie.”

“It was — worth it,” Donnie whispered.

 _No, it wasn’t,_ Leo wanted to say. It had been one of the worst moments of his short life to return to the lab, and find Splinter cradling what had looked like the corpse of his younger brother. Somehow it felt even worse to see him barely alive, wracked with pain and struggling just to speak. He knew that the price for saving the world and everyone on it could almost never be too high… but his heart said otherwise.

But he didn’t say it. He simply held Donnie closer, hoping that the act didn’t hurt him even more.

Then a shadow of something else passed over Donnie’s face, and his eyes opened wide. 

“Leo,” he whispered.

“What?”

“I can’t — c-can’t — I can’t feel my legs.”

An icy chill passed through Leonardo’s body.

“I c-can’t feel — anything — below my chest,” Donnie breathed, panic creeping into his voice. “L-Leo…”

Leo looked up at Fugitoid desperately, but the robot’s motionless face showed no hint of what he was feeling. He only began rooting through the small devices he had brought from Burnow Island, as if there was one there that could magically heal the wounded Turtle. Harold just stared at the two Turtles, his face twisted as if he had never experienced grief before.

Leonardo felt tears pricking his eyes, and prayed that Donatello couldn’t see them. He should have guessed that this was the case. A turtle’s spine was part of its shell, and becoming larger and more human-like hadn’t changed this for Leonardo and his brothers. When Donnie’s shell had been smashed…

Donnie gasped again, this time with a hint of hysteria creeping into his eyes. “Leo… I can’t… I c-can’t…”

Leo rested his free hand against his brother’s cheek, guiding Donnie’s head towards his face. “Donnie,” he said as calmly as he could. “It’s going to be all right — just listen to me, Donnie. Listen to my voice.” He firmly held Donnie’s face in place, hoping that he could calm his brother before he hurt himself further. “We’re going to find a way, Donnie. We’ll find a way — somehow — to fix this. I promise you… listen to my voice… just breathe deeply…”

He didn’t know if he was lying now. There was nothing on Earth that could repair the kind of damage that Donatello had suffered, that much Leonardo knew. But at the same time, he knew that his brother couldn’t be beyond hope. There had to be something they could do for him. There had to be.

The raw panic in Donnie’s eyes faded away, and his panting breaths slowed into the same deep, rough gasps of before. Leonardo felt some of the tension slip away from the broken body in his arms.

Then Donnie’s fingers weakly dug into Leo’s forearm. 

“Leo,” he whispered.

“Yes, Donnie?”

“It hurts — Leo — it hurts — so much…” Donnie breathed, sounding as if he were straining. 

“I know, Donnie,” Leonardo said thickly, feeling something hard forming in his throat. “I’m so sorry…”

He could see tears trickling from the corners of his brother’s eyes, and vanishing into the purple cloth of his mask. That alone told Leo how much agony his brother was in — in all their short lives, he couldn’t remember seeing Donnie cry even once. Without a word, Leonardo leaned close to his brother and rested his forehead against Donnie’s, praying that he didn’t start crying as well. 

Then he felt Donnie’s body go limp in his arms, and his brother’s head fell against his shoulder. When he raised his head, he saw that Donnie’s eyes were closed, and his face had lost the lines of agony and anguish that had been there just seconds ago. He looked as though he were only asleep.

“No,” Leo whispered, feeling a new chill descend over him.

But then he glanced up at the monitor over Donnie’s bed. The heart monitor was still beeping softly, and its line was interrupted every second or so by another sudden rise. He quickly looked down at Donnie’s still face, and now he could see a faint wisp of chilled vapor rising from his lips. Once… twice… three breaths… four…

Donatello still drew breath. His heart was still beating. For how long, Leonardo didn’t know, but for now, it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are welcomed and encouraged.


	3. Fault

“Unconsciousness is a mercy for him now,” Fugitoid said quietly, placing a hand on Leonardo’s arm. “I may be able to help with that…”

Leonardo carefully lowered his brother back onto the bed, being careful of his ruined shell. As gently as he could, he wiped the traces of tears from the corners of Donatello’s closed eyes.

Fugitoid moved to the other side of the bed and slid another hypodermic needle into Donnie’s arm.

“What is that?” Leo said faintly.

“Something that will keep him unconscious for at least the next six hours, mixed with something that will dull whatever pain he’s feeling now,” Fugitoid said. “I didn’t — I didn’t think that he was close enough to consciousness to feel anything before. But now that we know — well, future doses can be administered through the intravenous catheter, but I wanted to make sure this dose was administered as quickly as possible.“

“Do you have any fancy alien tech that will help a paraplegic?” Harold said, sounding half sour and half hopeful.

Fugitoid was silent for a moment, and Leonardo had the impression that he felt ashamed. “No,” he said at last. “I don’t have anything like that.”

Leonardo placed a hand on Donatello’s once again, feeling a thready pulse in the hollow of his wrist.

“This is my fault,” he said at last.

The two scientists stared at him in consternation.

“I should have known what Shredder had planned,” Leo said, more to himself than to anyone there. “I thought that I knew his mind, the way he thought. But I was stupid enough not to realize that he would never trust Donnie unless he had — had a way of making sure he wasn’t betrayed.”

A voice echoed in his thoughts, saying hesitantly, _Just… just one more thing. I want you all to know I… I really love you guys._ At the time, he had believed that Donatello was only saying it because he was worried about the risks of going to Burnow Island. But now he knew it had been more than that. Donnie had known that he might not live through the day.

“This wasn’t your doing, Leonardo,” Fugitoid said.

“But it is my responsibility,” Leo said, hearing his own voice shake slightly. “This was my plan from the start, and I was too wrapped up in it to see the signs. If I had known — if I had even suspected that he would be trapped with those monsters, I never would have left him—“

“Don’t be obtruse,” Harold erupted.

Leo looked up in surprise. The lanky old man was glaring at him as if the Turtle had personally offended him.

“It’s because you wouldn’t have left that he had to keep it a secret from you,” Harold continued angrily. “You heard him. Nothing was as important to Donatello as stopping Krang and the Technodrome — including his own life. He made a deal that he knew would probably lead to his own death, and he wanted you and your brothers to go save the world rather than meddling. Bah!”

The old man threw his arms up in the air, and stalked away, which would have been more impressive if the room were bigger than a small garage. He settled down in front of a small monitor and began scrolling through screens of medical data, grumbling under his breath.

Leo watched him silently, and then looked back at Donnie’s still face. He felt a cold metal hand on his elbow. 

“You should go back to your family and — and tell them what happened here,” Fugitoid said quietly. “For the moment, there’s not much more we can do for Donatello. But I will make sure he’s as comfortable as possible, and will continue to see what can be done to… to make him whole again.”

Leonardo swallowed, and nodded once.

He barely remembered leaving the refrigerated unit, but was momentarily dazed as the door swung open. A blast of warm air hit him, along with the sound of Raph’s angry voice raised in mid-rant.

“—ain’t gonna do nothin’,” he was raging, his voice hoarse. “You know it, and I know it.”

“We know very little, Raphael,” said Splinter’s soft voice. 

“They crushed his shell,” Raph raged, baring his teeth. “He ain’t gonna recover from that — none of us could. Fugitoid can’t do nothin’ about that, can he? _Can he?”_

Alopex tried to put a paw on Raphael’s shoulder, but he was gesticulating towards the steel door behind Leonardo, and pulled out of her reach. As Leonardo stepped forwards, his younger brother swung around towards him, his eyes wild and brimming with tears of rage and grief.

“Leonardo,” Splinter said, holding out a hand to his eldest son.

Mikey raised his head, revealing the tracks of tears on his cheeks. “How is he?” he said in a small, quiet voice, as if dreading the answer.

“He — he woke up, just for a minute or so,” Leo said hesitantly.

He saw hope flickering in his father’s eyes, and wished he had said nothing. Donnie’s waking moments had been a nightmare, and right now he wanted nothing more than for his brother to stay asleep, away from the pain and fear, away from the knowledge of what Rocksteady had done to his body. “He was — in a lot of pain,” Leo continued slowly. “He could barely speak. And he’s — he’s paraplegic.”

Silence settled over the room, as thick and choking as a fog. 

“What’s paraplegic?” Mikey piped up.

“It means someone who can’t move their legs, Mikey,” Angel said, her voice thick with emotion.

The youngest Turtle’s gaze faltered, and he slid down against the wall again, with fresh tears brimming in his eyes. The young woman went over to him and put her arms around his shoulders, only to stagger back as Michelangelo suddenly threw his arms around her, clinging like a small child. 

“I’m gonna kill them,” Raph said in a low, growling voice. “I’m gonna find them and smash _their_ spines. I’m—“

“You’re not going to do anything, Raph,” Leo said sharply. “Not yet.”

Raph swung around towards him again, his golden-brown eyes already filling with rage. Leonardo steeled himself, knowing that whatever came next was just more grief, more fear than his brother could handle. Anger was how he dealt with those emotions — and the angrier he was, the more grief and fear he was hiding.

“So what, we sit on our butts and wait for Donnie to slip away before we do anything?” Raph snarled. “Is that what you’d like? Or do you—“

Leonardo didn’t remember falling. Instead, it felt like the ground suddenly bucked under his feet, and swung vertically towards his shoulder, crashing into him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. The world seemed to spin and rotate around him for a moment, as if he were going to slide right off the planet… and then it suddenly righted itself.

He was lying on his side on the floor, with his cheek pressed against the cool concrete. His father was already crouched over him, pressing a hand to Leo’s forehead.

“I’m all right,” Leo said hazily. “I’m fine.”

“You are _not_ fine,” Angel said sternly. “Fine people don’t just keel over like that for no reason.”

Leonardo pushed himself up onto his elbows, and was rewarded with another strange whirling sensation as the lab seemed to tilt and twist around him. He grunted, easing himself back down to the floor, and waited for his vision to clear.

One thing he could see clearly was Raph, who was still standing stock-still where he had been before. The anger had drained out of his face, replaced by shock, as though he thought that somehow his harsh words had been the cause of his brother’s collapse.

Michelangelo, on the other hand, was already at his older brother’s side, his hands clumsily digging into Leonardo’s shoulder as he tried to heave him back up to his feet.

“I’ll be fine,” Leo said, amending his previous statement. “You guys should be worried about Donnie, not me.”

“My son,” Splinter said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I would not neglect either of you—“

“I was afraid this would happen,” a metallic voice said from behind him. 

The Fugitoid strode into view, and stared intently at Leonardo again. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Honeycutt was scanning his body again, as he had done to determine Leonardo’s blood type.

“You need to rest for the time being, Leonardo,” Honeycutt said at last. “I warned you before about the blood loss. Michelangelo,” he said, turning to the youngest Turtle, “is it possible for you to find some food for your brother?”

Michelangelo sniffled, and glanced over his shoulder at the door. “Well, Woody should be workin’ right now. I could be back here with a pizza in no time.”

“Then please do so.”

“I’ll go with him,” Angel said, pulling her armored suit back over the top half of her body. “Just in case.”

Leonardo felt a whisper of relief at that. Rocksteady and Bebop had all but killed Donnie, and they had no idea where the pair were now. The last thing he wanted was for Mikey to go through the streets at night, all by himself. With Shredder missing and the Foot Clan in disarray, who knew what they might do if they encountered another Turtle? 

“Once he returns,” Fugitoid said sternly to Leo, “you should eat immediately.”

“I can’t,” Leo said. The idea of eating anything while Donnie lay half-dead in the next room turned his stomach.

“You can, and you will,” Fugitoid said, his tone brooking no disagreement. “And after that… after that, you all may see your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are welcome.


	4. Raph

The best day of Raphael’s entire life had been the day he was found by his brothers. After endless months of wandering the streets, a lonely nameless freak surviving on garbage and sleeping in stinking alleys, he suddenly was no longer alone. Three strange Turtles who looked just like him had swept through Old Hob’s gang, easily subduing every thug with swords, bo and nunchaku. And not only was he suddenly no longer the only creature of his kind, but they had welcomed him as the brother whom they had been searching for for over a year. Someone cared about him. Someone wanted him. He had a name.

In the days that followed, he was suddenly awash in acceptance that he had never experienced before. He was used to people screaming and running away as soon as they saw his face, sometimes throwing things or menacing him with a knife if they were aggressive enough. Yet now he suddenly had a place to call home — even if it was a sewer — a father, and three brothers who were all thrilled to see him and accept him as one of them. Never before in his life had Raphael been hugged by someone, and he discovered he liked it.

And for a short time afterwards, he had felt that all was as it should be — that they would go on forever like this.

But then cracks began to appear in his little world. First Splinter was abducted by that damn alleycat, and abducted again by the Foot before his sons could rescue him. But they had gotten him back quickly, with no real harm done.

Then Leo. Stolen from his family, brainwashed by that fox witch and turned against the people who loved him most. Suddenly their family had been broken —a vital part was missing from their lives, and nothing could replace it. 

They had gotten him back, but Raph had spent weeks desperate and raging, trying to fix what had once been whole. He had wanted nothing more than to bring his brother back, snap him back to reality, and be a family again. That was right. That was how it should be.

Now Donnie. 

In a way it was worse than when Leo was taken. At least with Leo, there was hope that they could break through his brainwashing, get him back, take him home. That idea had sustained Raph through the cold nights in the streets, beating up thugs and crooked cops for information on the Foot. But with Donnie… Raph couldn’t believe that Donnie was going to make it. How could he, after what they had done to him?

The door clanged shut behind him, sending a gust of cold wind blasting across his shell. Next to him, Mikey shivered, his reddened eyes fixed on the hospital bed across the room, surrounded by wires, monitors, an IV drip, and other equipment that would have looked more at home in a hospital than a giant nerd fridge.

Raph felt his heart constrict as he saw Donnie lying in the middle of all of it, with wires and tubes sprouting from his body like tangled vines. His broken shell was hidden by the sheets under his body, and his arms had been carefully placed straight at his sides. 

He was too pale. Too silent. Too painfully still. Too… arranged. He looked like a corpse on a funeral bier.

Raphael swallowed convulsively. He knew intellectually that his brother was somehow still alive after what those bastards had done to him — the monitors above and around him showed brain wave activity, a heartbeat, blood pressure — but he couldn’t force himself to believe it. No living person looked that lifeless.

Mikey was already at Donnie’s bedside, clutching one of his hands tightly, as if he thought he could tether Donnie to this world just by hanging on hard enough. But Raph kept his distance.

“Is something wrong, Raphael?” the robot said quietly.

“You don’t gotta lie to me,” Raph said bluntly. 

“Lie to you?”

“About Donnie. He ain’t gonna make it.”

Honeycutt was silent for a moment, and the silence weighed on Raphael like a stone tied to his neck. If Donnie was going to survive, he thought, the Fugitoid would have said so. His fists clenched at his sides.

“I can’t truthfully promise you that he will,” the robot said at last. “But neither will I say that he won’t.”

The Fugitoid put a cold, consoling hand on Raph’s shoulder, and the Turtle shivered without meaning to, never taking his eyes off the still shape in the bed.

“Understand this, Raphael. Donatello’s condition is critical — I won’t lie to you and say it isn’t. He suffered severe head trauma, immense blood loss, and the same impact that broke his shell also caused severe internal injuries, which I have treated as best I can, but which I cannot heal completely — just yet. There is a strong risk of infection due to the broken shell, which I am monitoring closely. He’s in a great deal of pain, from the break itself, tissue damage caused by fragments of shell, and from the nerve exposure that the hole has caused.”

Raph swallowed hard. Somehow knowing everything that was wrong with Donnie seemed to make it even worse.

“But he is still alive,” Fugitoid said gently. “He is alive, and he has fought his way back from the brink, through the first and worst of the damage. He has great strength, Raphael, and you should never forget that.” He glanced up at Raph’s face. “I know it’s very trite to say this, but while there is life, there is indeed hope. I know this… better than most do, I’m afraid.”

“Even if he makes it,” Raph said, his mouth suddenly dry, “he won’t be — the same Donnie…”

“Perhaps not. But he will still be your brother, and he will still love you. And if he is to survive, he will need the love and strength of his family more than ever before. He will need you and your brothers, Raphael.”

Raph took a shaky breath. The fire inside him had burned low over the last hour — ever since Leo had collapsed from blood loss — and now he felt nothing but a bone-deep ache deep inside his chest. And fear. Fear that this was one break his family couldn’t recover from. Fear that they were being chipped away, little by little, by Shredder. Fear that after all they had done, Donnie would still be lost. 

“He’s waiting for you,” Fugitoid said quietly.

That fear gnawed away at him as he slowly approached the hospital bed, carefully stepping over the wires and tubes that hung in front of him. He was close enough now that he could see the dark mottling of bruises on Donnie’s arms and legs, the cuts left from the fight, the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, which misted faintly with his weak breath.

They had stripped away the athletic wraps from his arms and legs, his belt, the fingerless work gloves that Donnie had made himself, even his bloodstained mask. It made him look even more vulnerable and fragile, somehow.

And that caused the rage to bubble up inside Raph, eclipsing his fear as he thought of what those bastards had done to Donnie. They had all but killed him, left him to die in a puddle of his own blood, all alone. 

He wasn’t going to let them get away with it. If it took him the rest of his life, he would find Rocksteady and Bebop, and make them feel all the pain and fear that Donatello had suffered. 

But for now, all he wanted to do was take Donnie home. He wanted to rip the wires and tubes from his brother’s broken body, gather him up in his arms, and carry him away from this godforsaken lab that would, in his mind, always stink of blood. He wanted to take Donatello to their lair, the hidden safe place deep underneath an old ruined church. He wanted to lay Donnie in his own bed, surrounded by the gadgets he tinkered with, the scientific magazines, the old tools he had scavenged. Where he belonged.

He placed his hand over Donnie’s cold, limp one, and didn’t let go for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome and encouraged!


	5. Splinter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: To anyone unfamiliar with the IDW continuity, in it Splinter and the turtles are actually the reincarnations of a medieval Japanese ninja and his four young sons. It sounds kinda hokey, but it works really well in the story, and doesn't interfere much with the characterizations because none of the Turtles consciously remember very much about their past lives.

A lifetime ago, Hamato Yoshi had lost everything. 

His adored wife Tang Shen had died in his arms. He had lost his clan and his home in one fell swoop, all because of Oroku Saki’s paranoid treachery. And after eleven years of tense peace, living in a backwater with his four precious sons, he had lost them as well — seen them all beheaded in front of him, on the orders of his onetime clan brother. The sword stroke that had ended his own life was almost a mercy. 

He had lost his boys, yes, but he had only had seconds to grieve before he followed them. He didn’t have to spend hours burying their bodies and marking their graves. He didn’t have to spend years grieving for them and thinking of how their lives might have gone, if things had been different. He didn’t have to live without the only people that had made his life bearable.

And now he faced life without one of them.

Splinter’s hand curled around Donatello’s still fingers. As he looked down at his pale, still face, he thought of another face — that of a solemn human boy clothed in purple, and the look in his eyes as he realized that he and his brothers were going to die. 

He couldn’t let this happen. Not again. The idea of living on without his son — without any one of them — was more than his heart could bear.

His mind flew back to what he had seen during his astral journey to find Donatello. A hedge maze, surrounding a small garden, with a thousand tangled paths between him and the soul of his son. When he had finally fought his way to the center, he found Donatello standing on the brink of death, confused and calling out for his mother. But he had come quietly with Splinter when his father guided him back into the darkness and uncertainty of life. And just then, his father knew, he had woken in front of Leonardo.

But no matter what his soul had chosen, there was still the matter of his body.

Fugitoid had explained everything. The head trauma, the risk of infection, the internal injuries. Some of it had been a little too technical for Splinter’s limited knowledge of turtle anatomy, but the gist of it had been that Donatello was still in grave danger.

“My son,” he said quietly, resting a hand against Donatello’s cheek. “Forgive me.”

This was his fault. His shortsighted stupidity. Donatello had tried to tell him a thousand times — had tried to explain the importance of his mission, but Splinter had ignored him. Found ways to ignore him, to frame his own obsession as the most important priority. No matter how frantic Donatello became, no matter what arguments he made, his father had ignored him.

If he had listened, things would have been different. A different plan might have been enacted. He and the Mutanimals might have fought Bebop and Rocksteady rather than invading the Foot. Something. Anything different.

Splinter bent closer and placed a gentle kiss on Donatello’s forehead. He could hear his son’s faint breath wheezing inside his oxygen mask, one of the few outward reassurances that he was still alive.

“Is he suffering?” he said quietly as the Fugitoid passed by.

“I’m afraid we can’t know for sure,” the robot responded.

Splinter sighed.

“I’ve made him as comfortable as I can,” Fugitoid added quietly. 

“When may we take him from this place?” Splinter asked.

“Soon. I’m already assembling the equipment you will need in your home to monitor his condition. Once it’s set up, we can transport him directly there. It will be safer and less traumatic for him that way.”

Splinter nodded absently. He didn’t fully understand the teleporter that Donatello and Harold Lillja had built, but he was in favor of anything that kept Donatello from suffering more than he had. More than he would, whenever he woke again. If he woke again.

“I understand how you feel,” the Fugitoid said quietly. “I know what it’s like.”

Splinter looked up sharply, startled from his morose thoughts. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what the robot meant. How could a machine possibly know what it was like to face losing a child?

Then he remembered what Donatello had once told him — that Honeycutt had once been a living, flesh-and-blood man himself, before his mind had been transferred into a robotic body. Though he said nothing more, Splinter felt a wash of regret for his first thoughts. If he had once been a man, he might know all too well what it was like to feel this fear… and perhaps the loss that might come with it.

The thought haunted him as he followed the robot back into the relative warmth of the dark laboratory, where his other three sons were gathered. He felt another wrench as he realized that as he had failed Donatello, he had also failed to remember the three sons who were not hurt.

Leonardo was still sitting where he had been for the last few hours, with his shell against the wall and his head in his hands. Michelangelo was sitting near him, his reddened eyes heavy-lidded with tiredness. And Raphael was sitting on a packing crate, his burning eyes staring at nothing at all.

Splinter was the most worried about Raphael. His fiery son didn’t handle tragedy well — in fact, he handled it very badly. When Leonardo had been taken by the Foot and Casey had been stabbed by Shredder, Raphael had acted in desperation, roaming the streets and beating small criminals and crooked policemen, searching for some news of where his brother might be. Splinter had been told this later by Donatello — at the time, his own desperate quest to reclaim Leonardo had consumed him so much that he had failed Raphael as well, letting him lash out without trying to pull him back.

“Father!” called Leonardo, scrambling to his feet. He stumbled slightly, but Michelangelo grabbed his arm and steadied him.

“You should not rise, my son,” Splinter said quietly, raising a hand.

“Father, I’m all right,” Leonardo said. “I’m well enough to teleport to the lair with some of the medical equipment. The sooner we’re set up there, the sooner we can bring Donnie with us.”

Splinter almost protested. Leonardo’s sudden collapse had frightened him more than he would admit to his son, especially so soon after finding Donatello. He had failed his intelligent son, and couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to the other three.

On the other hand, he mused, Leonardo was unlikely to come to harm if he was merely teleporting to their home and back. It wouldn’t be too strenuous for him. And he might be able to keep an eye on Raphael, whose anger and energy needed to be channeled into something far less dangerous than hunting Bebop and Rocksteady.

“Very well,” the mutant rat said, bowing his head. 

Looking relieved, Leonardo moved swiftly past his father, with Michelangelo tagging a few steps behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcomed and appreciated.


	6. Home

_“Are you receiving my signal, Leonardo?”_

“Loud and clear, Professor,” Leo said loudly. 

_“You don’t need to be quite that loud, Leonardo. I can hear you quite well.”_

“Sorry,” Leo said, lowering his voice to its usual volume. He raised a hand to his head and tried to pull the audio headset into a looser configuration. It was Donnie’s, and he had a narrower head than his older brother did.

_“Michelangelo will be bringing the last of the equipment in just a few minutes. I’m currently prepping Donatello for transport.”_

“We’re almost ready for him,” Leo said, glancing into the adjoining room. It was virtually empty except for the monitoring equipment he and Raphael had brought to their home — a dark concrete box that had been chosen as Donnie’s sickroom. 

Well, empty except for one piece of dilapidated furniture. Casey Jones had been living with them when they moved into their new lair, the old one having been destroyed by Baxter Stockman’s robots. They had scavenged a bed for him to sleep in, for the short time that he had been with them before moving in with the O’Neils. For the past few months, it had gathered dust and been piled high with some of Mikey’s less-treasured comic books.

A loud grunt came from inside the room, followed by the sound of wooden legs scraping across the floor. Raph had thrown himself into cleaning the bed, placing fresh sheets on it, and moving it into the spot that he deemed best for Donnie.

Leonardo didn’t challenge him. Raph was throwing his energies into something productive, and that was often a rarity with his brother. Better he devote himself to caring for Donnie than in rushing out to hunt down the monsters who had done this to him.

Leo’s face tightened into a grimace. They had already faced Rocksteady and Bebop, and he knew that a straightforward attack on them was effectively attempting suicide. At the same time, he also knew that they had no choice. Those creatures — and Shredder, if he still lived — needed to be punished for what they had done. And if Leonardo was able, he would make them regret that they were still alive. One way or another, they would pay.

Suddenly the room swam and whirled around him, and Leo had to grip the edge of Donnie’s desk to keep from falling to his knees.

He sank down onto one of the couches and breathed deeply. Apparently, he reflected, he had gotten excited enough that the blood loss had gotten to him yet again. 

At least Father wasn’t here to see it, or he would fuss again. While Raph and Mikey had been visiting Donnie, Splinter had forced Leo to choke down a few slices of pizza, firmly assuring him that food would help him regain his strength. Leo had barely been able to swallow the pizza, which he normally enjoyed — though not as much as Mikey did. It had been as much from guilt as anything else — to do something pleasurable when his brother was half-dead in the next room felt like a betrayal.

His thoughts were interrupted by a bright flash of light inside the sickroom, a pinkish blast of energy that left several dark shapes in its wake.

“It’s real dark in here,” Mikey’s voice said. “Do we have any lights for this room?”

“If Donnie were here,” Raph grunted, “he would be doin’ it.”

Leo was already halfway through the doorway. He touched the microphone button on his headset. “Professor, Mikey and the last of the equipment are here,” he said.

_“Excellent. We have Donatello ready to be teleported immediately. Stand by.”_

“Guys, step back,” Leo said loudly, herding his younger brothers to the far end of the room.

He heard muffled voices coming through the earpiece, and recognized one as Harold’s.

There was another flash of pinkish light, and Leonardo’s eyes caught two shapes before it faded away — one was the familiar shape of the Fugitoid, and the other was the hospital bed that Donnie had been resting on for the past night and day. Leo felt his heart give a lurch at the still figure lying there. He was never going to get used to the sight.

“Mikey, there’s a camp lantern in the corner,” he said, trying to sound brisk and commanding. “Turn it on so we can see what we’re doing.”

“Roger dodger,” Mikey said, scampering to obey.

A few minutes later, the room was dimly illuminated. Fugitoid pushed the rolling bed closer to the wooden one, and stepped back.

“Leonardo, Raphael — it’s time,” the robot said.

Raph visibly steeled himself, and slid one of his muscular arms under the back of Donnie’s neck, lifting his torso as gently as possible from the thin mattress. As he did so, Leo caught another glimpse of Donnie’s ruined shell. He suddenly regretted eating the pizza, as his stomach churned inside him — it was sickening to see, with the bloodstained shards of bone stretching over raw, glistening flesh speckled with fresh blood. 

He had never thought before about what the inside of their shells looked like, or even what would happen if one of them was damaged. They were so integral to a turtle’s body that he didn’t tend to think about them at all except when it was relevant. Now he was acutely aware of just how fragile their bodies could be — even the tough, armored parts meant to protect the rest. 

He felt a piercing phantom ache in his own back, under his own shell, at the thought of what Donnie must be going through. 

_It hurts — Leo — it hurts — so much…_

“Bro, wake up,” Raph said gruffly, his chin resting on Donnie’s shoulder.

“Sorry.” 

Leo quickly went to the foot of the bed, and gently looped his arms under Donnie’s knees. Carefully, so as not to reopen any of Donnie’s wounds, they lifted his limp body and placed it carefully on the wooden bed, making sure that no undue pressure was placed on his frail carapace. As Donnie sank down against the mattress, Raph gently lifted his head and slid a couple of pillows under it, carefully moving them until he was satisfied that his brother was sufficiently supported. Leo smiled softly at the sight.

Fugitoid went to work then, carefully placing sensors on Donnie’s chest and arms, inserting the needle for the intravenous drip, and placing an oxygen mask over Donnie’s mouth and nose. He instructed all three Turtles in how to do each task properly themselves, and emphasized the importance of checking on the machines to make sure every connection was secure. 

“I’ve remotely connected these machines to Harold’s laboratory systems, so I will also be monitoring Donatello’s condition from a distance,” he added. “However, they only monitor certain bodily functions such as heart rate, respiration and blood pressure. I will need the three of you to check him regularly for other things that may not show up immediately, such as infection.”

“We can do that,” Leo said solemnly. He wasn’t entirely sure what they could do if Donnie’s shell became infected, but he trusted the Fugitoid to know.

“I know you can,” Fugitoid said. “I’ll also be coming by in a few hours with a new supply of painkillers and sedatives.”

“You want us to poke Donnie with more needles?” Raph said, sounding slightly alarmed.

“No, not quite. I’ll show you how to inject them into the intravenous catheter.”

During this conversation, Mikey had quietly stolen away to their living room outside, and returned with a thick green woolen blanket clutched in his arms. His face was set in a grimly determined expression. Without saying a word, he painstakingly draped the blanket over Donnie’s body, carefully pulling it under his arms and over most of his chest, then tucking the edges under him to make sure that no part of his body was too exposed.

Finally he stood up straight, and found the other three watching him.

“He looked cold,” Mikey said defensively.

“It’s all right, little bro,” Leo said quietly, placing a hand on his baby brother’s shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

“He did indeed,” Honeycutt said. “Though he has stabilized, Donatello is still suffering from physical shock, and should be kept warm.”

Raphael muttered something under his breath about “freezing Donnie” and “nerd fridge” that Leo didn’t quite catch.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Leonardo,” Fugitoid said, touching the transparent screen in his hand. With another pinkish flash, he was gone, leaving the four brothers in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments are welcome and encouraged.


	7. Next

Not long after, Master Splinter returned, silent and grave.

Leonardo had done his best to make Donnie’s sickroom as pleasant a place as it could be, lighting candles to illuminate it as well as the camp lantern, and bringing in a few of his brother’s possessions — his laptop, a stack of well-worn science periodicals, a photograph Splinter had taken of the four of them the day after Raphael had been found. 

His intention was to make the room feel less dreary and dark, but as he followed his father into the sickroom, Leo realized that his efforts had not been successful. The flickering candles cast deep shadows on the walls, adding to the air of gloom that hung over them all. And though bringing in Donnie’s possessions made it look more like his bedroom, they could not disguise the faint scent of blood that hung around his bed. His broken shell was still bleeding, though only in small spots and drops.

“You did well, Leonardo,” Splinter said, patting Leo’s shoulder. “If your brother were awake now, I know he would be pleased.”

Leo smiled and accepted the compliment, though inwardly he was just grateful that Donnie wasn’t awake. The memory of his brother’s eyes shining with tears still haunted him.

Raph had been holding a silent vigil by Donnie’s bedside ever since the Fugitoid had left. Occasionally his eyes flickered to the monitors beside Donnie’s bed, as if reassuring himself that the still figure in the bed still had a beating heart. Then he went back to watching Donnie’s sleeping face for any sign of waking. It was as if he was afraid that Donnie would blink out of existence if he looked away too long.

Splinter came up behind him, and gently touched Raph’s shell. Raph glanced over his shoulder at his father, then silently settled back into his reverie.

“Have you considered your next actions, Leonardo?” Splinter said as they stepped into the room outside.

“Honestly, Father, I haven’t. I’ve just been so caught up in — in what happened.”

“I do not blame you, my son. I too have been unable to think of much besides Donatello.”

And that was a sign of how badly this entire situation had shaken them, Leo knew. He and his brothers had just thwarted a warlord’s quest to terraform the entire Earth, the Foot Clan had been decimated in Shredder’s attack on Burnow Island, and Splinter had just spearheaded a raid on the headquarters of the Foot. It was perhaps their greatest victories yet against their enemies, and normally they would be rejoicing at how well their plans had been executed.

And yet, all Leo could think of was a shattered shell and a bloodstained mask.

“But we may soon have reason to worry about what these new developments have wrought,” Splinter continued. “After the Savate Ninja were effectively obliterated, the entire underworld of New York fell under Oroku Saki’s sway. Now that he is gone —“

“We’re not sure if he’s actually dead, Father,” Leo interjected.

“I know that, my son, but likely the Foot believes him dead, since none of his forces have returned from Burnow Island. You said that the island was made uninhabitable for human life, yes?”

“Yes, it was. Professor Honeycutt sent us away as quickly as he could for that reason.”

“Then they likely believe that Saki is dead. And that will cause chaos. A great deal of the Foot’s power in this city came from fear of Saki himself, so with him gone, alliances may dissolve and other powers may seize their chance to rise again. The city will be in flux now, and it would be best if we kept a close eye on it.”

“I agree, Father,” Leo said, glancing back at the sickroom. “I’ll take Raph and Mikey out right away.”

“Are you sure you are able, Leonardo?”

“I am, Father. I promise I won’t do more than I can handle.”

“It might be advisable to also investigate the Mutanimals,” Splinter added.

“I’ll send Mikey to do that. Raph —“ Leo lowered his voice. “I don’t think it’s safe to let him go anywhere by himself right now.”

“I agree,” Splinter said, folding his hands.

After prying Michelangelo from his bedroom, where he had been sitting silently on the lower bunk of his bed, Leonardo slipped back into the sickroom. Raph was sitting in exactly the same position as before, his hands clasped loosely in front of his knees, his head lowered with eyes fixed on his brother.

“Raph, it’s time to go,” Leo called quietly.

Raphael stirred on his chair, and briefly glanced back at his brother. “I ain’t going.”

“Why not?”

“Someone has to stay with Donnie.”

“I agree,” Splinter said quietly. “I will do so.”

“But, Father—“

“I will remain with him constantly until your return, Raphael,” Splinter said, pulling his tempestuous son from the chair and directing him toward the door. “If there is the slightest change in his condition, I promise that my first action will be to call the professor.”

Raph seemed like he was going to argue with his sensei over it, but he eventually rose and followed Leonardo out of the lair. Leo caught a glimpse of something burning in his brother’s eyes, and guessed that Raph was only coming so peacefully because he hoped to stumble across Bebop and Rocksteady while they were out.

The three Turtles leapt gracefully from rooftop to rooftop, running and soaring with little visible effort in a way that humans weren’t able to. Normally Leo found this sort of thing exhilarating; he loved the feeling of his own growing strength, rejoicing in pushing his already-powerful body to new heights as he learned greater precision and skill. Raph had once said that the only thing he enjoyed more than training was preparing for it, and Leonardo couldn’t say that he was wrong.

But tonight it felt wrong. Very wrong. He was used to Raphael’s occasional absences from their nightly rounds — sometimes his red-masked brother roamed through the streets with Casey Jones, “crackin’ heads” of random street thugs. Leo didn’t entirely understand it, and he thought that it was sometimes more trouble than it was worth, but Splinter had told him that Raph needed an outlet for his aggressive feelings, and to simply let him do what he needed to do.

But Leo had never gone out without Donatello before. From the very first patrols that he had gone on, Donnie had been at Leo’s side. He had sometimes driven Leo into a fury with his skepticism and his constant questioning of Leo’s decisions, but he had been there. Always.

It felt like he had walked out of the lair without one of his arms — it was impossible not to notice that something vital was missing.

He gritted his teeth, and landed lightly behind a billboard, his brothers landing a little less gracefully just behind him.

“Mikey,” he said, turning swiftly to them. “I need you to go track down the Mutanimals and see what they’re up to. Raph, you’re with me. We’re going to check the streets and see what the Foot are up to.”

Raph growled something under his breath, and punched his fist into his open palm.

“What’s that?” Leo said.

“Nothin’. Let’s get on it. I’ve had enough of sittin’ around.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcome and encouraged.


	8. Street

They reunited an hour later on a rooftop, overlooking a street swarming with Purple Dragons. Mikey confirmed what Leo had suspected all along: the Mutanimals were nowhere to be found, possibly in hiding after Old Hob had abandoned Splinter.

“Stinkin’ fleabag,” Raph snarled. “Figures he’d run.”

Wind blasted across the rooftop, lifting the tails of Leonardo’s mask and whipping them around his shoulders. “Well, you tried, Mikey. I don’t really think they would help even if we found them. The news about Shredder has spread across the whole city, and it seems like it’s stirring up a lot of unpleasant people.”

“Like them?” Mikey said, pointing down at the street.

Leo squinted down at the tiny figures darting across the road, running in lazy circles and occasionally pausing to spray-paint a wall or leap on the hood of a car. Purple Dragons. They were bolder now than they had been for as long as he could remember, roaming through the streets with bats and chains, broken glass and steel pipes, their voices raised in celebration of their own power.

Leo’s eyes narrowed. The Purple Dragons were a chaotic force that he hadn’t liked even before they served the Foot Clan. They had been a reluctant ally when the Turtles had first encountered them, but he soon found that that was entirely due to Angel’s influence. The moment Hun had taken control of them, they became a thuggish minion of the Foot Clan, reveling in their ability to steal and terrorize without repercussions. 

Even if someone other than Hun were in control of the Dragons, Leo wouldn’t like it. They were dangerous, and they were easily swayed. Angel thought she had reformed them into something better, but the men who followed her had just been letting their proud savagery fester for awhile, and they abandoned her as soon as something “better” came along.

“Yes, Mikey,” he said. “Just like that.”

He heard someone scream faintly in the distance, stirring up something in his blood. Down below, a number of the Dragons were surrounding a white van, and had successfully pried the doors open.

Leonardo’s nose crinkled with disgust. He poised himself on the edge of the building, his leg muscles tensing to jump—

“Hold it!”

An arm shot in front of Leo, throwing him off balance and forcing him to stumble backwards. Raph was staring at him with blazing eyes, as if Leo had just suggested something that outraged him. 

“You ain’t goin’ down there,” he said grimly.

“Who says I’m not?”

“I am. It hasn’t even been a day since Fugitoid sucked out so much of your blood that you fell over and couldn’t get back up. You’re not in fightin’ shape.” Raph gestured down in disgust. “What if you had another attack down there in the middle of a fight? They could bash your brains in before you even had a chance to call for help.”

Leonardo met his brother’s eyes, and found himself wishing that he could argue against what Raphael was saying. He felt fine at the moment, and he knew that the brute tactics of the Dragons were no match for his actual martial skill and training. But there was no denying that even a small amount of excitement earlier had made him dizzy, and he couldn’t afford to suddenly lose his equilibrium in the middle of a fight. 

And there was something else behind the outrage in Raph’s eyes — a lingering fear that Leo had seen in him back in Donnie’s sickroom. 

But before Leo could respond, he felt a chill pass through him, as though someone had touched the back of his neck with something cold, slimy and clammy. He thought he saw something in the skies above them, up against the pale yellow moon, but when he raised his head again, he saw nothing. Nothing but clouds and the glittering spires of New York.

“What is it, Leo?” Mikey said.

“We need to get down from here,” Leo said quietly.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Raph erupted.

“I didn’t mean to fight, Raph. I mean — we need to be off this rooftop.”

“Why?" Mikey asked.

“Call it a hunch. Follow my lead.”

He leaped down in silence, drawing his katanas before his feet touched the alley floor. He heard the quiet falls of Mikey and Raph behind him, the faint clink of their weapons as they pulled them out. He was the only one who could, probably — the Dragons passing the alley were hooting and howling, absorbed in their own displays of power, and the subtle signs of a ninja’s presence were more than the clods could notice.

“Now what?” Mikey queried, idly spinning one of his nunchaku.

“We find a manhole and make our way home,” Leo said, his eyes darting across the busy street. 

“We running from somethin’?” Raph said uneasily. His golden-brown eyes glinted as he looked out at the Purple Dragons, and Leo had the distinct impression that if his brother wasn’t so concerned about his well-being, he would already have dashed outside to fight a dozen gangbangers.

“Avoiding something I think might be out there,” Leo said hesitantly. “If I’m right, we should get underground and tell Master Splinter what we’ve seen — or not seen — right away.”

His eyes roamed across the street for one of those dull iron circles that would signal a way out of sight, and a direct way to get back to their home. But he wasn’t sure if it would work even if he did find one — the Dragons knew of the Turtles, and would certainly recognize them if they suddenly ran out into the street and down a manhole. Probably at least a few would follow them, and though Leo was certain that three ninja could shake off a few common street thugs, he didn’t want to risk even showing what direction their home was in. 

Especially not now, with Donatello helpless and unconscious at the lair.

And it would be a hundred times worse if Hun was with them. The hulking human seemed to have convinced himself that the Turtles were the reason that his only son despised him, and that the drunken beatings and the servitude to Shredder had nothing to do with it. Mutagen had turned the weak-minded fool into a behemoth with strength that could only be countered by someone much bigger or much more skilled than he was.

Leonardo knew for a fact that he was the latter. But he wasn’t so skilled that Hun wasn’t still a danger.

And then he saw him — a brawny mountain of muscle and sinew, topped with a bleached head of hair. Wonderful. 

Then a blast of wind tore its way through the crowds of Dragons, pushing them back in disarray. Leonardo ventured a little further out of the alley, and saw another familiar figure just landing on the street, sweeping wings lashing out like whips.

“Koya,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcomed and encouraged.


	9. Koya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, we'll be back at Donnie-related angst soon enough. Mikey's chapter is coming up soon too.

Leonardo had only encountered the mutant hawk once before, but that had been more than enough. It had been in Northampton, while his mind was still healing from the brainwashing that Shredder had twisted him with. His brain had felt like it was made out of tissue paper, and the slightest breeze could unnerve him. He had been fragile, still shaky, still haunted by visions that tormented him as he pleaded for help.

And then, just as he was finding his feet again, Koya had arrived. It had been hate at first sight between them — the mutant hawk seemed to see him as a traitor for having escaped Shredder’s clutches and shaken off the brainwashing, as if it didn’t matter that his loyalty had been an illusion forced upon him. Leonardo, in his turn, had fought her with all his strength and even been briefly tempted to kill her.

And for some reason, Koya kept talking about devouring Leonardo’s flesh. She seemed obsessed with the idea. Maybe Shredder should have fed her more often, he thought with a slight smile.

“Heads up,” Raph whispered, dropping into a crouch.

Another shape was coming fast down the street behind Koya, causing the Dragons to scuttle away in fear. A huge grey-skinned shape with thick limbs and a long sweeping tail. But what caught Leo’s eye was the head — the creature’s head stretched out at the top, with small black eyes embedded in the very ends of it. Its mouth bristled with jagged white teeth.

“We’re gonna need a bigger boat,” Mikey whispered.

“That shark wasn’t a hammerhead, Mikey,” Leo responded absently.

“It’s still a shark, it still eats people, and it’s still scary. Think we can blow it up like they did in the movie?”

“Shut up, runt,” Raph grunted. He turned to Leo, his eyes almost glowing in the dark. “So now what?”

“We’re going to quietly back away from them,” Leo said, keeping his katanas close to his body, “head to the back of the alley, and vault over the fence there. From there we find the nearest manhole cover and head down into familiar turf, so we can find out way home.”

“I’m fine with that plan,” Mikey said.

They began slowly stepping backwards through the alley, keeping their eyes on Koya and Hun. She and the mutant shark seemed to be speaking to him about something, and Hun didn’t seem pleased to see them. He was recoiling from the two Foot Clan mutants, his beady eyes darting this way and that.

Then Raphael yelped in Leonardo’s ear, followed by an unearthly screech and a flying bundle of fur darting out of the alley. Leo’s heart nearly stopped.

“Damn cat —“ Raph spluttered.

It was too late. The two mutants were already staring directly at them, and Leo had the sinking feeling that the shadows that wreathed them were not enough to hide the sight of three giant turtles.

“Green freaks,” Hun whispered, a glimmer of madness creeping into his eyes.

“Look, Bludgeon,” Koya hissed, an eerie smile crossing her face.”Leave the human for now — we can find out about his loyalties later. Right now it’s time for a turtle feast.” 

The shark grinned. “I can see the appeal. Which ones do you want?”

Koya fluttered her feathers. “I want the one in blue. No one feasts on his flesh but me!” 

She uttered a deafening screech as she launched herself toward Leonardo, and the noise was enough to throw him off-balance for a crucial second. He swung his sword in a wide arc toward her, barely skimming past her beak. A few small fluffy feathers were sent flying into the air above her as she drew back and lashed out with one of her clawed wings.

“Treacherous filth!” she screeched, hatred dripping from her eyes. “You betrayed the Master! _Betrayed_ him! And it was the fault of you Turtles that he is dead now!”

Leo nearly bent backwards to avoid another swipe of her claws. But in that moment, his heart sang at what she was saying. She had just confirmed that Oroku Saki was dead — or at least, that the Foot Clan believed he was, he told himself sternly, which might not be the same thing.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mikey and Raph fighting the mutant shark — Bludgeon, Koya had called him. He didn’t seem to have any trouble fighting on dry land, as he swept his long tail behind him like a club and swung powerful large fists. Mikey barely avoided being thrown into the side of a building by them, while Raph narrowly dodged a close encounter with the rows of serrated triangular teeth.

But he didn’t have time to help them now. Koya had regrouped and was lashing out with her wings again, with even more fury if it was possible.

“I will rip the beating heart from you, Turtle!” she screeched, sounding more and more unhinged. “I will devour your flesh while you still live! _I will leave your carcass on my master’s grave!”_

Leonardo grunted, swiping at her outstretched claws with one katana while driving her head back with the other. She dodged the blow, but only barely.

“I’d settle for just making you shut up,” he retorted.

Koya screeched again, a reddish glint appearing in her eyes. 

_“Traitor!”_ she keened. “He would be alive now if it weren’t for you Turtles!”

_No, he wouldn’t,_ Leo thought darkly. _If it weren’t for us, the entire planet would be terraformed now, and you would have choked to death on the atmosphere along with the Shredder._ But he knew it would be useless to actually say such a thing. Koya wasn’t a particularly reasonable mutant at the best of times, and her loyalty to Saki bordered on zealotry. 

As he drew back his arm, Koya darted her head forward and tried to knock him off his feet, but Leonardo had already figured out what her next move would be. She had passion and great strength, but for all her talk of being an assassin and a predator, she had little skill in fighting. She used her speed and her ability to fly to compensate for her lack of fighting ability.

He braced one foot against the asphalt, and hammered the other one against her chest as hard as he could. The bird squawked loudly and was sent tumbling backwards, her wings spreading out instinctively as she tried to catch herself.

But then the ground seemed to sway and tilt under Leo’s feet, driving him back a few steps as he tried to regain his balance. Desperately he shook his head, trying to clear away the dizziness before Koya managed to get up — trying to remain standing — trying to get back home before his brothers got hurt —

“Turtle!” Koya screamed, sweeping toward him.

Leo raised an arm instinctively to shield his face, only to feel the hawk’s teeth sinking deeply into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this, please let me know in the comments!


	10. Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you wondered if I made a mistake: yes, Koya is a bird and she has teeth. Eh, why not? The Turtles have teeth too.

For as long as he could remember, Raphael had thought sharks were ugly. It might have been their open mouths full of spiky teeth, or it might have been their cold, dull black eyes that showed no flickers of intelligence. Either way, he disliked them, and he particularly disliked ones that worked for the Foot Clan.

That tail crashed into the street just a few inches from where he was standing, and he leapt away from it, close enough to the shark to kick its thick leg. It swayed, but it didn’t go down, and an outraged bellow came from its throat.

Mikey was spinning and leaping like a whirlwind nearer the shark’s head, dodging expertly every time the creature tried to take a bite out of him. That was a distraction to Raph — he couldn’t fully focus on fighting when he was constantly watching to see if those jagged teeth would cut into his brother. He had to get it together. Had to make himself focus.

“How ya doin, bro?” Mikey called out, smashing a nunchuck into the creature’s left eye.

“Could be worse!” Raph panted, jabbing Bludgeon in the flank with his sai. The heavy tail whirled just above his head, but he managed to duck in time.

This wasn’t going to work, Raph realized. They might have a chance at defeating this mutant, but right now the two of them were just chipping away at the edges of his defenses. That might work if they had unlimited time… but they didn’t. Sooner or later Foot reinforcements would come for them, and Raph wasn’t confident that they could defeat two dangerous mutants and an army of Foot ninja.

He gritted his teeth and leaped up the shark’s back, scraping up the rough skin before launching himself at the back of its head. Those damned weird eyes it had saw him coming, but not before the turtle could land a massive strike directly between them.

Bludgeon swayed and stumbled — still not fallen, but weakened. Raph felt a surge of pride in himself.

And then he heard Leonardo scream.

.

Without warning, the world around Leonardo seemed to grow slower and darker. At first he barely felt it as the bird’s small, sharp teeth sank deep into his arm, but then an arc of white fire bloomed on his skin. Something wet dripped down the inside of his arm, and he could feel a cry rising up in his throat.

Koya’s eyes glinted feverishly at him, and he had the distinct feeling that she would have gladly taunted him if his arm hadn’t been lodged in her beak.

Before he had a chance to regain himself, she lashed out, kicking him solidly in the stomach with one clawed foot. The wind rushed from his lungs, and the spinning in his head worsened as he nearly fell backwards — but he couldn’t let himself do that, or Koya would make good on her previous promises. And Leonardo wasn’t particularly eager to be eaten alive or have his heart ripped out.

“Leo!” Mikey’s voice cried out.

Leonardo took a deep breath and forced himself to lean into the bite, even though every instinct he possessed screamed at him to rip away, get far from the bird and her teeth. His free hand still held a katana, and he swung it almost without thinking, in a wide arc towards Koya’s neck — if he could just get her to let go—

Her claw swung around to meet the sword, knocking him off balance and nearly tearing it from Leo’s hand. He braced himself against the ground and jabbed the blade at Koya’s neck, slashing off some of her smaller feathers.

She uttered a muffled shriek of rage and disgust, and seized his flailing arm with her claws. Before he could rip it loose, she twisted it back against his shell, sending sparks into his shoulder.

Leonardo barely hard time to react before he saw rage and triumph flash through Koya’s eyes, delighting in his pain and confusion. He could feel her slowly grinding her small, sharp teeth deeper into his arm, forcing another tortured gasp from him. His other arm was slowly being twisted in her grasp. There had to be a way to make her let go —

Then something even worse happened — he felt her pulling fiercely at his arm with her beak, trying to tear the flesh from his bones —

_“Get away from my brother!”_

Raph’s voice rang out across the street, distorted by rage and raised almost to a scream. 

Koya didn’t have time to react. Something pointed and silver streaked past Leo’s face and embedded itself in the hawk’s shoulder. Koya shrieked, twisting her head to the side, and another slash of pain trailed across Leo’s arm as her teeth were torn from his flesh, followed by a splatter of blood that arced past his face.

She let out a ear-piercing shriek and stumbled back a few steps, desperately swatting at the sai that had pierced her body, suddenly releasing Leo’s other arm from her iron grip. 

Leo could feel a stream of hot blood pulsing down his arm with every beat of his heart, trickling into the curve of his elbow. He was bleeding, but at least he was free of that wretched hawk’s screeching mouth. He gritted his teeth through the pain, reversing his grip on the sword in his uninjured hand, and smashing it with all his strength into Koya’s chin.

The hawk’s eyes went wide with shock, and she crumpled to the ground in a tangle of her own feathers and claws.

“Koya!” Bludgeon roared.

Leonardo swung around towards the mutant shark, raising his swords in front of him, ready to lash out if Bludgeon decided to attack. For a moment the shark’s solid black eyes stared directly at him, and Leo had the feeling that Bludgeon was torn between going to see if Koya was all right, and attacking the one who had knocked her out. 

Then he surged forward, sweeping his tail at the Turtles almost blindly, and lunged towards the fallen hawk. Leo had to duck unexpectedly as the tail whizzed directly over his head, nearly throwing him backwards.

By the time Leonardo had straightened and turned around, Bludgeon and Koya were gone from the street, except for the distant sound of heavy footsteps.

Leonardo looked down at the fallen sai at his feet, then back to his brothers.

“Is everyone all right?” he called out.

“I’ve got a scrape on my knee, but I’m okay,” Mikey called out.

“Good,” Leo said, putting a hand over his forearm. It wasn’t bleeding as much as it had been a few minutes before, but it still hurt, throbbing hot and wet against his palm. Maybe if he kept the pressure on it, the bleeding would stop and he would be able to convince the others —

Raph swooped down on him, his eyes glittering in the faint light. For a moment he stared intently at the bite marks in Leo’s green flesh, now half-hidden by a wash of thick scarlet blood. Without a word he pulled the mask from his face and swiftly tied it around Leo’s arm at the elbow, pulling it uncomfortably tightly.

“Bro, you’re bleedin’ all over the place,” Mikey said, concerned. 

“It’s not that bad,” Leo argued.

“It’s that bad,” Raph said tightly. “And we ain’t even got Donnie to patch you up right now, do we? We ain’t got Donnie to stitch you up and make sure you don’t got an infection from that stinkin’ bird’s mouth. We ain’t got Donnie to tell you to take it easy ‘cause you’ve lost so much blood already, ‘cause you sure ain’t listening to me when I say it!”

“I think he’s got it, Raph,” Mikey spoke up faintly.

Raph’s face tightened, and he glanced back at Mikey.

“He obviously didn’t, ‘cause if he did, we wouldn’t have gone out lookin’ for trouble tonight,” he said fiercely, his voice growing rougher with every word. “We shouldn’t even be here right now. We should have stayed home with Donnie and Father, until things were safer and we didn’t have to worry about our leader gettin’ his arm ripped off and losin’ even more of his blood.”

He yanked the makeshift tourniquet tighter, and Leo drew in a shaky breath. He could barely feel his own hand. 

“You’re right,” he said at last.

Raph didn’t reply, focusing instead on knotting his mask.

“Let’s get back home before anything else happens,” Leo said quietly. He could feel the world starting to waver under his feet again, and wasn’t particularly eager to collapse out in the open, on a dark city street where the Dragons roamed. 

Raph remained stubbornly silent, but he pulled Leonardo’s uninjured arm over his shoulders as they limped home.


	11. Hope

The lair was dark and deserted when they returned; only the living room was still lit up with the pendant lights Donnie had installed on the walls.

They found their father in Donatello’s sickroom, where he had promised Raphael he would be. More candles had been lit, casting a pale flickering light across the entire room, and showing that Donnie hadn’t even moved since they had left. He was just as still, as silent, as distant. It sent a wrench through Leonardo’s heart every time he saw it.

Splinter was sitting in a chair at his side, murmuring softly in Japanese to his fallen son. Occasionally he took a damp cloth from a small bowl of water, and gently bathed Donnie’s forehead. A few stray drops of water streamed down Donnie’s face, falling like tears down his cheeks.

Splinter turned as he heard them coming in, and his eyes widened. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Leo said automatically. His arm was soaked in blood, which still oozed slightly down his wrist despite Raph’s ministrations, and Koya had left a large half moon-shaped wound just above his hand. But he could still move it without too much pain, and he could tell from past experience that it would heal up well, probably without even a scar.

But he knew his father would hear none of that. Splinter almost flew over to him, his black eyes wide and fearful. He gently took Leonardo’s damaged arm in his hands and examined the bite marks.

“Leonardo,” he breathed. “What has happened?”

“He got dizzy, and that ugly bird put the chomp on him,” Raphael said bluntly.

Splinter’s face darkened.

“Father, it looks worse than it is,” Leo said gently. “I’ll be fine.”

“I should never have let you go out tonight,” his father said under his breath, almost as if to himself. He took a deep quavering breath, and guided his eldest son to the chair by Donnie’s bedside. “Wait here. I will bring you the first aid kit.”

Leonardo sighed, cradling his arm against his chest, and watched his father dart back out into the next room. The pain from the injury itself wasn’t particularly bad; more than that, he regretted causing his father even more distress during a time when everyone should be focusing on Donnie’s well-being. 

Donnie. His gaze settled down on his brother’s still face, resting against the white pillows, and moved down to the faint, steady rise and fall of his chest under the blanket. He wondered how long they could keep Donnie like this, suspended between life and death on a steady stream of drugs and painkillers. A part of him wanted his brother to stay like this forever, away from the pain and the paralysis, but at the same time—

“What are we gonna do when he’s better?” Mikey said.

Leo looked up, startled. “What?”

“What are we gonna do when Donnie’s better?” Mikey repeated, wide-eyed.

“Mikey, we don’t know if—“

A stubborn expression crossed his little brother’s face. “Fugitoid’s gonna fix him, Leo. He won’t let Donnie stay like this. You wait and see.”

Leo remained silent, keeping his gaze down on his bleeding arm. He had explained everything to Mikey back at Harold Lillja’s lab, while Splinter had been in the cooling unit with Donnie. Holding his weeping baby brother in his arms, he had told Mikey softly that there was a real possibility that even after all they had done, Donnie wouldn’t survive what had happened to him. And even if he was stabilized now, there were other dangers that could still take him from them.

The robotic scientist had incredible scientific knowledge — more than anyone else on Earth — and had already done more for Donnie than anyone else could have. But Leo also knew that their robot friend could only do so much — and the raw, knife-sharp, gaping hole in their brother was not something easily healed. Surely if it was something that the Fugitoid knew how to heal, he would have done it already…

He glanced up at Raph, waiting to see what his other brother had to say. But Raph’s face was locked into a hard, angry mask, and his fists were clenched at his sides as he looked down at Donnie’s still form.

“What do you mean, what are we gonna do?” he said quietly.

“Well, the lair’s full of lots of ladders and stairs and stuff,” Mikey said plaintively. “If he’s para—paraplegic, and we need to get him a wheelchair or something, how can he get around?”

The thought had never crossed Leo’s mind. “Mikey, I—“

“I’ll carry him,” Raph interjected.

He looked up at Leo, an uneasy determination in his eyes. “Wherever he needs to go — wherever he _wants_ to go — I’ll carry him there,” he said awkwardly.

Leonardo bowed his head slightly, closing his eyes. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that, Raph,” he said softly.

He was suddenly so tired by the weight of the last day and night, when everything in their lives seemed to have changed. It felt more like a week had passed, with no time for him to rest and think about what had happened. He felt a stab of guilt for being so pessimistic about his brother’s chances, but the world outside seemed so dark and brutal at the moment—

“What’s that noise?” Raph said suddenly.

“What?”

“That chirpin’ noise. Sounds like a cricket.”

Leo blinked, and listened. It was a faint electronic chime, ringing out through the empty room. His eyes fell on the headset resting on Donnie’s heart monitor, which was glowing faintly blue.

“Hand that to me, Mikey,” he said, holding out a hand. 

He managed to slip the headset on without further injuring his bloodied arm, and touched the button that answered it.

_“Leonardo?”_

“Professor? Yes, we’re here.”

_“Oh, good. I wanted to notify you of my arrival before I came. You didn’t respond to my prior call.”_

“We were — a little caught up in something,” Leo said hesitantly. “I’m very sorry.”

_“Stand by. I’ll be only a minute.”_

The room was momentarily filled with a burst of pink light, and the familiar shape of the Fugitoid appeared behind the three Turtles. 

“Has there been any change in Donatello’s condition?” he said, carefully making his way through the candles.

“None that I’ve seen,” Leo said, sitting back in the chair, cradling his injured arm closer to his body. 

“I came to show you three how to properly administer sedatives and painkillers to Donatello,” Honeycutt said, putting a hand on the IV drip. “I assume none of you have ever done it before—Leonardo, what is wrong with your arm?” The robot’s green eyes grew brighter for a moment. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

“It’s just a bite,” Leo grunted, letting his arm fall to his side. “It’s nothing to be worried about. Master Splinter is bringing the first-aid kit.”

“I see,” Fugitoid said, sounding worried. He seemed to shake it off, and seated himself on the edge of Donnie’s bed. “I also came to give you some news.”

“About what?” Mikey said quickly.

“I—I may have devised a procedure that could restore Donatello’s health and bodily integrity, if successful. I’m not sure how extensive the procedure would be or how well it would work, but it is the only option going forward.”

Mikey threw a triumphant look at Leo.

“That’s… that’s excellent news, Professor,” Leo said faintly, looking back to Donnie’s still face. For a moment he saw it as it had been before — alight with energy and life, whether angry, happy or determined. If there was even the slightest chance to save him…

“Obviously Donatello cannot be kept in this state forever,” Honeycutt said, interrupting Leo’s thoughts. “I — assuming I am able to acquire all the required —er, elements, we should be able to perform the procedure in no more than a few days’ time.”

“So soon,” Leo said softly.

“Donatello’s condition could deteriorate at any time, Leonardo. Better we do it sooner rather than later.” Fugitoid rose from the bed, giving Donnie’s hand a gentle pat. “Now let me see that arm of yours. I can show you how to inject medications after that.”


	12. Thoughts

“I can’t believe it,” April said dully. 

Her ivory-skinned face had somehow gotten even paler, causing the few freckles on her cheekbones to stand out starkly like specks of blood. To Raphael’s eyes, she looked as if she were going to follow Leo’s example and simply fall to the floor.

“Donnie — I can’t believe he’s still alive after that,” she said faintly.

“Me neither,” Raph said gruffly. “It was Fugitoid that saved him.”

April smiled faintly, and a stray tear tracked its way down her face. “Remind me to thank him when I get the chance,” she said. “But it’s so… it hurts to see him like this, Raph.”

Raph didn’t respond. The truth was, it did hurt to look at Donnie in his current state — he could feel a throbbing, persistent ache under his shell when he even thought about what had happened— but he couldn’t bring himself to look away. Every moment with his comatose brother felt like it might be the last one, and Raph didn’t want to squander a single one of them.

He had been watching Donnie in the hours that followed Fugitoid’s departure. After the robot had cleaned, disinfected and bandaged Leo’s arm, he had instructed them all in the proper way to administer the drugs he had brought to Donnie. Raphael had watched intently, absorbing every detail, even though the amount of needles being stuck in Donnie’s body was making him a little queasy. Then the robot had vanished as suddenly as he arrived, saying cryptically that he had materials to get from Dimension X before he could start work on healing Donnie.

Healing Donnie. Raphael wasn’t entirely sure how that was possible. Maybe what Fugitoid meant was putting some kind of artificial covering over the hole in his carapace — metal or plastic or something — so that Donnie wouldn’t be in constant pain from exposed nerves and torn tissue anymore. Like a prosthetic part of his shell.

That would be enough for Raph—just to know that his brother wasn’t bleeding and dying little by little right in front of him, just to see him without sedatives and painkillers leaving him looking like a corpse. Just to know that Donnie was going to stay with them.

Even if he… even if he couldn’t walk ever again.

Raph’s stomach clenched, and his fists clenched with them. That pesky thought kept horning its way into his brain, no matter how often he tried to think about the possibility of Donnie recovering. Fugitoid hadn’t mentioned anything about fixing Donnie’s paralysis, and Raph had listened intently to every word the robot had spoken about his brother. He had spoken of extensive nerve damage, of blood vessels, of replacing bone with prosthetics, of fusing tissue to artificial constructs… but he hadn’t said a word about Donnie’s inability to move his legs. 

Raph had tried to reassure himself that it would be all right. Keeping Donnie alive was the most important thing, more so than his ability to walk. He’d compensate for that part as much as possible. Raph knew he was physically strong, so he’d put that strength at his brother’s disposal. Wherever Donnie needed to go, Raph would take him. Whenever he needed him, Raph would be there.

Still… a part of him desperately hoped that the Fugitoid could work some kind of miracle.

He sank back down in his chair, watching Donnie’s still face. His olive-green skin was still far too pale, and shadows had formed under his eyes. He had only been like this for the past day, but somehow he looked thinner, frailer to Raph’s eyes, as if he were wasting away.

_Stay with us, Donnie,_ he thought, gripping his brother’s limp fingers. _If anyone can do this, you can. You were strong enough to save the world before, so you’re strong enough to do anything now…_

Mikey slipped in just then, still blinking away the remnants of sleep from his eyes. “Hey, April,” he said with a faint smile. 

“Mikey.” April enfolded the younger Turtle in a hug, which he happily received. 

He let her hold him for a few minutes, before stepping back and peering over her shoulder. “Raph, it’s my turn to watch Donnie,” Mikey said. “Leo wants to talk to April.”

Raph blinked. “I thought he was sleepin’.”

“No, Fugitoid and Father just said he had to rest. They didn’t say he had to actually sleep.”

“It’s okay, Raph,” April said quickly. “I was hoping to talk to him and Splinter about — about something I’ve found out. Something that may be important.”

“Well, see if you can keep Leo from gettin’ a paper cut and bleeding out from it,” Raph said sourly. “The way he’s been actin’, he might just do that.”

April smiled, and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. She darted out of the darkened room, and the sound of hushed voices rose in the room outside. Raph caught a few words — “scroll,” “immortal” and “Southwest” among them — but he turned away when he realized that whatever they were discussing, it probably had nothing to do with him. Or with Donnie. 

Better to let their father deal with the problem until he deemed it necessary for his sons to get involved in… whatever it was. Until then, Raph would focus on Donnie. Only Donnie.

Mikey was settling himself into the chair at Donnie’s bedside, his usually-cheerful face turned solemn. He glanced over the monitors with Donnie’s vitals on them, and checked that the IV needle was still firmly taped into Donnie’s hand.

“Do you think I should read to him?” he said.

“What?” Raph said.

“I read somewhere that people in comas can hear it when you talk to ‘em. Should I read to Donnie? Maybe he can hear us.”

“I doubt it,” Raph said sourly. “With all the sedatives and painkillers Fugitoid has him on, he probably isn’t aware of anythin’.”

Mikey seemed to wilt slightly, and Raph immediately regretted saying anything. But his baby brother perked up almost instantly, bending down to the pile of scientific journals that Leo had left there.

“Well, even if he can’t, I’m gonna read these things to him. I mean, maybe he can hear us, or at least our voices. If he does, that’d make him feel better, at least a little.”

It was on the tip of Raph’s tongue to point out that if Donnie was that conscious, he’d be in agonizing pain. But he choked back the thoughts, and watched quietly as Michelangelo flipped through the magazine, searching for an article concerned with something he could pronounce.

Splinter’s soft voice grew louder outside, and the soft thump of his cane came closer.

“… may be critical, Miss O’Neil. But for now… for now we have more pressing matters closer to home.” He was right outside the door, sadly surveying his sons. 

“I can handle this part myself,” April said quietly. “I’d like to feel like I was some use to you guys instead of… instead of just hanging around.”

They drifted away from the doorway again, and their voices faded away with them. Raph caught a snippet of their conversation — something about April and Casey going away somewhere for a few days — which made him feel oddly gloomy. He looked down at Donnie’s still face, and closed his fingers around those of his brother.

“You should go get some sleep,” Mikey said quietly. “You’ve been up for like, two days.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Raph muttered. Reluctantly, he let Donnie’s hand slip out of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikey chapter up next. Please leave a review if you like this, it helps motivate me.


	13. Wakened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I must have rewritten this so many times, trying to get it right. It's Mikey's chapter with Don.

It was almost two o’clock in the afternoon when Mikey checked the time, uncertain how long he had been standing vigil over his fallen brother. It was hard to tell in Donnie’s sickroom; it always seemed to be night, with the candles fighting back against the shadows that loomed over him.

A few of the candles had burned all the way to the floor and gone out, and a few others had simply lost their fire. He’d have to replace them soon, in order to keep the room from being too dark. He hated to think of Donnie lying there in the dark, helpless and unable to move, even if someone was with him all the time.

“Maybe I should get you flowers or something,” he said quietly. “Something nice to look at when you wake up.”

The only response from Donnie’s shadowed face was another faint intake of breath. Mikey loosely twined his fingers with Donnie’s, and held his brother’s hand as tightly as he dared. 

“It’ll work,” he whispered. “It has to work.”

When he finally looked up, he noticed that the room was darker than it had been before. The lights and glowing lines on the monitors shone out brightly in the darkened room, and Donnie’s face looked ghostly and pallid in their white glow. Mikey shivered, and quickly glanced around the room.

Two of the larger candles had gone out. Mikey picked up one of the smaller candles and painstakingly relit the wicks that had been drowned in molten wax, until they slowly sputtered back to life.

And then he heard a gasp from behind him.

“Donnie?” he whispered.

In the faint light of the candles, he could see a pair of eyes shining in his brother’s face, and a hand gripping the blanket tightly. “M-Mikey,” a hoarse voice said softly.

“Donnie!”

Mikey swooped down on his brother, and tightly grasped Donnie’s shaking hand between his own. Donnie uttered another wild, raw gasp, and his fingers tightened around his brother’s.

“M-Mikey — you all — got back safe?” he whispered.

“Yeah, Donnie, we did. Everybody’s safe now.”

Donnie closed his eyes, and a few tears trickled from under his eyelids. “That’s — good,” he breathed.

Michelangelo gently stroked Donnie’s forehead, guiding his brother’s head back to the pillow. He tried to speak as softly as he could. “And you’re going to be too, really soon. You’re going to be okay, Donnie.”

“No, Mikey…”

“Yes, you are.”

“Not—going to be—okay,” Donnie whispered. His face was etched with pain in a way that Mikey had never seen before — no training had ever prepared him to see a face twisted and drawn like this, or feel a hand gripping his with the desperation of the dying. Donnie’s breath was still coming in rough gasps, as if he were trying to expel the pain from his body. “Can’t… be…”

“Don’t say that,” Mikey whispered. “You can’t just give up like that. Not after everything…”

His brother looked at him, and the ghost of a smile crossed Donatello’s face. “A turtle—can’t live—without a shell, Mikey,” he whispered. “I can’t…”

“I—I know that,” Mikey faltered. “But this is different. Fugitoid said he has a way to—to fix you, Donnie.”

That seemed to capture Donnie’s attention. “F-Fugitoid…”

“Fugitoid — and he’s really smart, and he’s got an idea to—to make you better, Donnie,” Mikey babbled, staring earnestly into those tear-glazed eyes. “So you have to just… just hang on a little longer, and he’ll fix everything.”

Donnie swallowed hard, and another painful gasp tore itself from his chest.

“I keep—dreaming—about it,” he whispered.

“About what?”

“When it happened. One of them—he sat on me—held me down—I couldn’t move—even though I knew— what was coming. The other one—he hurt me—had a hammer—smashed it into my shell…” He shuddered violently, as if reliving the memory. “I couldn’t—stop them—just kept thinking—I couldn’t bring you home—and I was going to die—“

“You’re not gonna die,” Mikey said, clutching Donnie’s hand even tighter, as if afraid that his brother would pull loose from him. “I won’t let you.”

“You can’t—control it—Mikey.”

“I’m not givin’ up on you!” Mikey said desperately. “Donnie, please — please don’t…”

Impulsively, he threw his arms around his brother’s chest and shoulders, resting his face against Donnie’s neck. He knew that Donnie couldn’t feel anything below the middle of his chest, and wanted to make sure he knew that someone was holding him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered tearfully. “I’m so sorry, Donnie…”

He felt his brother shift in his arms, trembling slightly. The pain wasn’t going away — it was getting worse, Mikey knew. And the longer Donnie was like this, the weaker he was going to get. The skinless, raw flesh inside Donnie’s shell was exposed, the nerve endings alight with flaming agony, and his wounds would never heal, never scab over, never stop bleeding…

Mikey had known this all along. He had tried to push it down and away from his conscious mind, treating it as just another injury to be healed. But the sight of Donnie, trembling and gasping and bleeding, had driven all illusions from him. Donnie was fading away, raw and ravaged and broken, drowning in blood and sweat, and there was nothing his little brother could do to stop it.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, feeling hot tears coursing down his cheeks.

He felt his brother’s hand gently touch his head, brushing aside the tails of his mask before stroking circles on his green scalp. Instead of comforting him, the gesture made him feel even worse. Donnie was the one with the broken shell, the one dying by inches, the one suffering more than any one person could bear. Yet he was still trying to comfort his baby brother. 

Michelangelo held him tighter, hearing the halting rhythm of Donnie’s breath, feeling his own hot tears spilling over onto Donnie’s throat. It was selfish, he knew. Selfish to want Donnie to keep suffering because his brother couldn’t bear the thought of losing him — but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling that way.

“I know, Donnie,” he wept. “I know — I’m sorry—but please, Donnie — please don’t leave us. Please stay with us. We can’t — we’re broken without you, Donnie. Please, just hold on a little bit longer…”

“Mikey…”

Mikey shook his head furiously, denying what he knew Donnie was trying to say to him. 

For a moment, Donnie just looked at him with solemn eyes, his rough breath rattling in his throat. Then his face suddenly crumpled, and tears began streaming from his eyes — tears of pain and fear of what might be coming for him while he slept. He pressed his free hand to his eyes, as if he were hiding from the world that had left him broken. A choking sob ripped itself from his chest.

Mikey closed his eyes, and nestled closer to his brother’s body. He could feel the hot tears tricking down onto his own face from Donnie’s, and every harsh, gasping breath seemed to pass through his throat as well. He could smell his brother’s blood soaking into the bed under him, dripping from the sharp shards of ruined shell and the torn flesh inside it. He could feel beads of sweat soaking into the sheets from Donnie’s tortured body. And in that moment, Michelangelo wished that he could feel Donnie’s agony instead — just to take it away from his brother, even for just a little while.

“I’m sorry, Donnie,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry…”


	14. Infection

“He did _what?”_ Raphael exploded.

“He woke up,” Mikey said in a small voice. 

“Why didn’t you _tell_ us?!” Raph said sharply, dashing past his little brother and vanishing into the darkness of the sickroom.

Mikey squirmed, wishing he had done that. But he had lost track of the outside world when he was with Donnie, as if the younger turtle had been trying to hold his body and soul together just by sheer will. It had never even occurred to him to break the quiet time he had had with Donnie by calling anyone else into the room.

And just as evening had fallen, Donnie had fallen asleep again — which Mikey might have considered a mercy if he didn’t already know that Donnie was haunted by nightmares of his shell being smashed. But it wasn’t the same sleep as before — not the deep, death-like sleep that had claimed him ever since he had been brought home. It was a shallow, fitful sleep that seemed to be halfway to waking, as if the pain was so bad that it wouldn’t let him rest. 

He glanced over at Leo, who was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I just — I wanted to talk to Donnie,” he said timidly.

He half-expected that his older brother would also chastise him. But Leo smiled wanly at him, put an arm around Mikey’s shoulders, and led him through the door.

Donnie lay in a pool of shadow, lit only by a few of the surviving candles and the faint light of the monitors around him. He seemed asleep but not resting, his hands twitching and his brow furrowed, his breathing shallow. Sweat slicked his face and his body, soaking into the sheets. He let out a faint groan that faded into something like a whimper.

Raph was poised beside the bed like an eagle protecting her nest, every line in his face anguished and grim. His fingers were digging into the bedpost. “Where are the pain meds?” he said in a low voice.

“I gave him some an hour ago,” Mikey protested.

“It ain’t enough. He’s still suffering. We gotta give him more.”

“We can’t give him more than the dose the Fugitoid told us to use, Raph,” Leo said quietly. “We could hurt him even more if we gave him too much.”

“How could he be worse than this?” Raph said bleakly.

He stared down at Donnie with eyes that felt as though they were burning, taking in his brother’s pallid skin, the hollow eyes, the faint tremble that ran through his body, the hitch in his breath whenever he breathed too deeply, as if even breathing was painful. As he watched, Donnie stiffened and turned his head away, making faint pained noises in his throat. 

That seemed to be Raph’s cue to swoop down on his brother’s side, and pull Donnie’s hand between his own, holding it tighter than ever now that Donnie might actually know he was there. _There has to be something I can do,_ he thought bleakly. There had to be some way to ease Donnie’s pain — they couldn’t just let him lie there in agony for however long it took Fugitoid to come back.

Then he flinched. Donnie’s skin was warm against his hand. Too warm.

“He’s hot,” Raph whispered.

“What?” Leo said.

“His hand feels feverish.”

Leo pressed his hand to Donatello’s cheek, and flinched. It wasn’t burning hot, but it was certainly warmer than he had been for the past few days. His eyes flicked up to the antibiotic drip hanging over Donatello’s bed, and his stomach clenched. It wasn’t working.

“He’ll — he’ll be fine, bro,” Mikey said tremulously, as if he were only barely able to believe it himself.

“Raph, roll him onto his side,” Leo ordered, bracing his hands against the edge of Donnie’s carapace. The last thing he wanted to do was put more pressure on the already fragile shell, but they had to check what was happening to their brother. If he had some kind of infection, it could have devastating effects to his ravaged body. The internal injuries alone made him vulnerable.

Raph slipped his arms around Donnie’s upper back and hips, and carefully rolled him sideways so that his broken shell was facing Leo. Then a ragged gasp escaped the body in his arms, and Raph’s heart nearly stopped.

“Don’t stop!” Leo urged him, bracing his hands against Donnie’s arm.

Raph swallowed painfully, and rolled Donnie towards himself, so that his brother was resting against his chest, his shell facing upwards. He could feel Donnie trembling against him, though with pain or exhaustion he wasn’t sure, and he wished he had been more gentle — even if he couldn’t think of how he could do that.

“Mikey, bring the camp lantern closer,” Leo ordered. He steeled himself for what he was about to see, and wondered how he could even tell if the shell had become infected. 

As the lantern was brought over, he found himself staring into a shadowy mass of tissue, some of it held together with small stitches that he hadn’t noticed before — probably more of the Fugitoid’s work. Somehow it made all the blood and glistening raw flesh even more nauseating to know that it was all part of his brother — that something so ugly and wrong was part of Donnie’s body.  
And then he saw it — a small trickle of yellow mixed in with the blood. Pus.

“It’s got an infection,” Leo said softly. He touched the sheet under Donnie, which was soaked with spots of red. “I’m calling Fugitoid. Where’s the headset?”

A brief, hushed search ensued, with the three Turtles carefully stepping around the lit candles and searching for the slender silver device that Leo knew he had left draped on the bedpost. They finally found it behind the largest monitor, where Mikey had accidentally pushed it. Leo brushed the dust from it and placed it over his head, touching a small button that was keyed to Fugitoid specifically. If he was on Earth, the headset would contact him.

Something cold clenched inside Leo’s stomach. The only problem was that when he had last spoken to Fugitoid, the robot had said that he was heading to Dimension X to secure supplies for Donnie’s treatment. Leo had no idea what those were, but given how advanced technology from that dimension was, perhaps they had medicines that could improve Donnie’s chances. And he had no idea how long it would take for Fugitoid to come back.

For a few minutes he stood silently listening to the chime that showed the headset was attempting to contact someone, feeling Mikey and Raph’s eyes burning holes in him. If Professor Honeycutt wasn’t there, he didn’t know what he would do.

Then a voice rang out in his ears, _“Yes, Leonardo?”_

“Professor?” Leonardo said, his eyes widening.

_“I just returned from Dimension X a few minutes ago. Is something wrong with Donatello?”_ Honeycutt sounded alarmed.

“I—he woke up this afternoon for a few hours, and he seems—he seems feverish now. And I think — I think his shell is getting infected.”

A moment of silence, and then, _“I’ll be there directly.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all reviews are appreciated greatly. And if you guys could check out "Son of the Foot Clan," that'd be great. ;) It's another IDW-comics-what-if story.


	15. Medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The ooze mentioned in this chapter is not mutagen, but a substance that is the core ingredient of mutagen, and which causes fast and complete healing from even the most serious injuries.

With every minute that passed, Raphael could feel himself growing angrier and more agitated. Every minute was another moment that Donnie suffered, another moment for his body to burn and his mind to be lost in nightmares of what those bastards had done to him. The Fugitoid had said he would be there soon, but he wasn’t — and Raphael couldn’t stand it anymore.

Donnie moaned softly as Raphael gently touched the damp cloth to his forehead, as though his skin was so feverish that the cool water hurt him. Raphael had never suffered a fever, so he had no idea if it was hurting Donnie instead of helping him, but it was the only thing he could think of to do for his wounded brother. He bit his lip, dampened the cloth again, and gently dabbed at Donnie’s cheek.

“Where’s Fugitoid?” Mikey asked for the sixth time. He was huddled in on himself, pacing the room anxiously.

“He’ll be here soon,” Leo said, sitting cross-legged by the door. He sounded so calm and sure that it made Raph want to smack him.

So instead he fixed his attention on Donnie, the one who really needed him. Water trickled down his brother’s flushed face and into the hollow of his neck, and Raph heard Donnie’s breath catch as the cool rag brushed over his skin. His own face grew grimmer, and he wondered if he should lave other parts of Donnie than just his face.

“Raph?” A rough, broken whisper.

“Donnie?” He leaned in closer, seeing his brother’s eyes flicker open. “Yeah, Donnie, it’s me!”

“W-water,” Donnie whispered.

For a moment, Raph thought that Donnie was complaining about having water wiped across his face. Then it struck him what Donnie was really saying, and he desperately scrabbled on the floor for the water bottle he had been using to dampen the cloth.

Gently he slid an arm behind Donnie’s neck, lifting his head slightly from the pillow, and touched the bottle to his mouth. The wounded Turtle’s lips and throat moved before he even began drinking, and he swallowed the water as desperately as if he had been lost in the desert. When the bottle was finally empty, he let out a sigh, and Raph settled his head back down.

“You need anythin’ else?” Raph said anxiously, hovering over Donnie.

“C-cold,” was all that Donnie said.

Cold. Of course, he was feverish. Raph tore out of the room to the spot on the couch where Leo had been sleeping, and had left a coverlet draped over the arm. Carrying it back into the sickroom, careful not to let the trailing ends catch fire from the candles, he spread it over Donnie and tucked the edges under his brother’s body. Donnie was already asleep again, though he moved fitfully against Raph.

Just then, the air flashed pink, and the familiar shape of the Fugitoid appeared.

“You took long enough!” Raph snapped.

“I apologize,” the robot said, rushing over to Donatello’s bedside. “I needed more items from Burnow Island, once I learned that an infection had set in.”

“Can you help him?” Leo said anxiously.

“I—hope so,” Fugitoid said, examining Donnie’s shell, seemingly scanning with his large green eyes. “You are correct. There does seem to be an infection in the exposed tissue, and Donatello’s body temperature is elevated by nearly three degrees.”

“What do ya mean, you hope so?” Raph snapped.

The robot produced a syringe from one hand. “This. I brought a supply of this solution from Dimension X, in case Donatello needed it. It serves to bolster the immune system of the badly injured and ill, which can stave off infection, which is very necessary in his case. Only…” He paused.

“Only what?” Raph said.

“I’m not sure if it will be effective. It was formulated for Neutrino physiology, and a mutant turtle’s body is… something relatively unknown, medically speaking.”

“Could it hurt him?” Leo asked tensely.

“It will not. That much I am sure of. I’m just not sure if it will help.”

“Well, if it can’t hurt, we should at least try it,” Leo said.

The three brothers watched silently as the Fugitoid injected Donnie, and Raph felt a sick sensation roll through his stomach as his brother didn’t react at all to the injection. It was as though he was locked in a little world made entirely of his own pain.

“He’s been wakin’ up, and he’s in a lot of pain,” he said sharply. “We need to give him more pain meds.”

As if agreeing with him, Donnie uttered a faint, painful moan, pressing his face against the pillow. His eyes fluttered slightly, and Raph’s heart lurched painfully. After a moment the unconscious Turtle’s pain seemed to subside slightly, and he sank back into something like oblivion.

“I’m sorry,” the robot said quietly. “But Donatello is already at the maximum safe dosage. If we use much more, it could have dire consequences for his body.”

“We can’t just do nothin’!” Raph shouted.

He could feel his eyes burning with unformed tears, and his fists clenched at his sides. He wanted to hit something, smash something, tear something apart. Every pained moan or grunt Donnie made seemed to rip at his heart, and the burning of Donnie’s fevered skin itched at him like a rash, but there wasn’t anything he could think of to make it better. 

Fugitoid watched him breathing hard for a moment, then said softly, “I will be returning with more antibiotics, Raphael. Our best efforts should be put towards fighting Donatello’s infection and lowering his temperature, because those will increase the probability of success when I attempt the procedure I spoke of before.”

“So we’re just supposed to let him suffer?” Raph said.

“Of course not. But we must put our efforts towards reducing his suffering, not in merely alleviating it,” the robot said in an irritatingly soothing voice. 

“So what can we do?” Mikey said in a small voice.

“Continue to medicate him to the best of our ability, including new and stronger treatments — as I said, I will be bringing new medications to fight his fever. Keep him warm, and keep him hydrated. And if the drug I have just administered is effective, it may be enough to fight off infection long enough for me to attempt a more permanent solution.”

“What’s this procedure you keep talkin’ about?” Raph said sharply.

“It would be a more permanent solution to Donatello’s current condition. It requires a great deal of the ooze in order to heal his various injuries, as well as facilitating the removal of his damaged carapace and the bonded placement of a prosthetic one.”

A deathly silence settled over the room, as all three brothers absorbed what he had said. 

“You’re gonna do _what?!”_ Raphael bellowed.


	16. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Raph hasn't really gotten a conversation with Donnie, and Mikey and Leo have, here's a brief chapter before the plot rears its ugly head.

“You wanna cut off Donnie’s _shell?”_ Raph snarled, taking a step towards the Fugitoid. “Are you outta your _mind?”_

“It’s not quite as simple as that—“ Fugitoid began to say, raising his hands.

“Then what is it?” Raph shouted. “Donnie’s spine is part of that shell, meaning that if you don’t just kill him right away, you’ll be paralyzin’ him even worse than he already is!”

“Raph, calm down,” Leo said, holding up an arm to keep Raph from moving any further towards the robot, as if he were afraid that his brother would lose control and tear him to bits. He turned slightly towards Honeycutt, who looked as unnerved as a robot with an unmoving face could. “This—this procedure you’re describing—“

“I am aware of the function a shell has for a turtle,” the robot said quickly. “And I would not be removing the entire carapace — only most of it, excepting the spinal bone section. That would be bonded, along with the tissue underneath, to a new artificial carapace that would effectively replace the old one. The ooze will allow me to bond the inorganic matter to Donatello’s body, so that it will be as if he were attached to the shell he was born with—“

He trailed off as he realized that Raphael was staring at him with wild, glaring eyes, simultaneously enraged and sickened by what he was hearing. Leonardo looked deeply disturbed, but seemed to be trying to keep his reaction under control. Michelangelo just looked as though he hadn’t decided whether or not to throw up.

“Similar procedures have been undertaken in Dimension X,” he added, hoping that they were listening. “I do have the skills for it…”

A long silence fell, broken finally by Leo. “We trust you, Professor,” he said.

“Um, can we talk, Leo?” Mikey said timidly.

Leo took his baby brother by the elbow and led him outside the room, and the sound of whispering came from behind the doorway. Mikey sounded dubious about the whole idea, while Leo was trying to reassure him.

“You,” Raph breathed, pointing at Fugitoid with his sai. “Listen carefully, tin man. This ‘procedure’ of yours better work perfectly. If Donnie don’t make it through the surgery, or ends up more paralyzed than he was before, I’m gonna come after you and take you apart. Literally.”

Fugitoid looked down at his sleeping friend. Donatello’s face was slightly contorted with pain, and his breath was coming brokenly again.

“If either of those outcomes comes to pass,” he said quietly, “I will willingly let you.”

Raph hadn’t expected that response, but he kept his face grimly set as he lowered his sai. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t just saying that.”

 

His own words echoed in Raphael’s ears for the entirety of that evening, grimly reminding him of what awaited his brother. When Fugitoid returned with new, stronger antibiotics, Raph refused to acknowledge him, keeping his eyes locked on Donnie’s face.

He didn’t want to say it — especially not when Mikey might be listening — but Donnie was getting worse. His fever had intensified, burning Raph’s skin as he gripped his brother’s hand. And his half-asleep movements had grown feebler as time went on, as though his body was becoming too weak to move under its own power. Even his faint moans and whimpers seemed to be quieter than before.

As the Fugitoid set up a new antibiotic drip with Leonardo’s help, Raph continued bathing Donatello’s face in cool water, hoping that it brought a little relief to his brother. Occasionally Donnie woke for a few seconds, and every time Raphael helped him drink from a sports bottle he kept at his side, before letting his brother sink back into his fevered, bloody dreams.

The evening wore on, and Raph could hear his brothers talking quietly in the living room outside with Master Splinter. Something about the Purple Dragons, which normally would have caught Raph’s attention, but which he couldn’t spare a thought for at the moment.

He wrung out the cloth and dabbed at the sweat on Donnie’s brow, feeling his brother sigh at the brief relief that the water brought him. He moved the cloth down to the sides of Donnie’s neck and under his chin, wishing that they had a bathtub so he could immerse his brother in cool water, let the heat disperse from his skin. 

Then a breath caught his ear, followed by a faint movement against the pillow. “Raph — that you?” Donnie’s hoarse voice said.

Raph touched the cloth to his brother’s cheek. “Yeah, Donnie, it’s me,” he said quietly. “You want more water?”

“Yes — more.”

He set down the cloth and held the bottle to Donnie’s lips, lifting his head and shoulders slightly so that he didn’t choke or cough. When he was done, Raph settled him back against the pillow, and waited for his brother’s eyes to close again, letting him drift back into oblivion — hopefully a dreamless one.

But they didn’t close. They remained fixed on him, glittering with fever brightness under hooded lids. 

“Raph—“ Donnie said faintly.

“Yeah, bro?” Raphael leaned closer, eager not to miss a single word his brother said.

“Thank you — taking care of — of me,” Donnie breathed, moving his hand to Raph’s. His eyes closed as Raph touched the damp cloth to his face, as though losing himself in the feeling. “I know — you’ve been here — a lot —“

Something wrenched deep in Raphael’s chest, and his fingers clutched Donnie’s tightly. “I thought you were asleep,” he said quietly.

“Not — all the time — hurts too much — to sleep,” Donnie said, opening his eyes slightly. A trickle of water ran down his cheek like a tear, and ran down into the hollow of his neck. “I know — when you’re here, Raph — even when — not asleep.”

“I’m with you, Donnie. I ain’t going nowhere.”

Donnie seemed as though he were going to answer, but suddenly he stiffened, his eyes closing tightly and his hand convulsively clutching. Raph watched helplessly as another wave of pain overtook his brother, and he could do nothing to stop it, only wait for Donnie to recover enough to speak again.

Eventually his grip on Raph’s hand relaxed, which Raph took as a sign that the pain had subsided somewhat. Then Donnie breathed, “So cold — then burning up — all the time.”

“You got a fever, Donnie. A bad one. And your shell’s got some kind of infection, Fugitoid says. So you gotta rest up and try to get better, okay?”

“I’ll—try.” Donnie smiled faintly. “No promises.”

Those two words clenched Raphael’s heart again, but he swallowed the sudden spurt of panic inside him. Saying he was going to try was a good sign — it meant he was fighting. It meant he hadn’t given up. Fugitoid’s words came floating back into his head again: _I know it’s very trite to say this, but while there is life, there is indeed hope._

“Raph?”

“Yeah, Donnie?”

Donnie’s hand moved to Raphael’s clenched fist, which still had the damp rag clutched between his fingers. “More water,” he whispered.

Raph smiled softly, and drew his hand away from Donnie’s. He quickly poured a small amount of the water onto the cloth, and began gently laving his brother’s fevered face again. Donnie sighed deeply and closed his eyes, letting himself drift away.


	17. Attack

Something was wrong. 

Leonardo felt it as soon as he woke, like an itch on the back of his neck that he couldn’t scratch away. He sat upright on the couch, his breath caught in his throat, his heart thudding against his ribs. He raced into Donnie’s sickroom, nearly upending a pillar candle as he skidded through the door. For one horrifying moment, he was sure the worst had happened.

“Leo?” Raph uncoiled from his place near the head of Donnie’s bed, clutching a dripping rag in one hand. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Is Donnie all right?” Leo said breathlessly.

“Of course he ain’t all right,” Raph said. “His shell’s been smashed, he’s got internal injuries and he has a fever. If you’re askin’ if he’s still here, yeah, he is.”

Leo looked past him at Donnie, watched as Donnie’s chest rose and fell a few times. The feverish turtle moaned softly, and Raph carefully dabbed at his face with the rag with a gentle touch that most who knew him wouldn’t have expected to see.

“It’s — it’s nothing,” Leo said uncertainly, backing out the door. “Forget I said anything.”

He sank onto the couch and covered his face with his hands, striving to center himself. For a moment he wondered if the feeling had just been a part of the anxiety of the past few days — the tail end of a dream produced by all the fear and worry he had been feeling. Maybe the disastrous experiences were finally catching up to him.

But no. Some part of him knew, absolutely knew that something was wrong. And if it wasn’t Donnie, he wasn’t sure what it could be, only that something was wringing his stomach with anxiety.

“My son?” came a soft voice from behind him. “What is wrong?”

“Nothing, Father,” Leo said, raising his head from his hands. “I just — felt that something bad was going to happen.”

Splinter seated himself beside his eldest, his face solemn. “It may not be nothing, Leonardo,” he said gravely. “It may be that yet more misfortune is coming upon us.”

Leonardo let his head droop back into his hands again. Not more. Not again. He couldn’t take much more trouble right now — not with Donnie sick and injured, and with the Foot Clan in disarray, Casey and April gone and the Purple Dragons running amuck. Everything felt so insane and chaotic that he could hardly even conceive of how they could cope with more trouble. 

Though, he admitted to himself that it wasn’t all bad. Shredder seemed to be gone, and Krang had been permanently stopped from terraforming the Earth. But it felt like the bad was outweighing the good at the moment, and Leo had the strained feeling that if any more misfortune fell on their family, they would crack and break like a bridge collapsing.

Splinter seemed to recognize this, and put a comforting paw on his son’s shell. “It may also be just your fears overwhelming you, Leonardo. Perhaps it would be best if you meditated to put your thoughts in order…”

“You’re right, Father,” Leo said, raising his head.

He seated himself on a rug on the floor, his legs in the lotus position, and closed his eyes. He hadn’t done this in several days, and he could feel the disarray of his spirit as a result — too many raw emotions, too many stray thoughts worming their way into his conscious mind. He could hear faint sounds around their lair — Mikey rattling around in the next room, the faint slop of water as Raph wetted his rag again, Donnie’s breathing…

He let all that mental detritus slip away, allowing his mind to become empty and serene, like the surface of a pond. He could feel all his tension trickling out of his shoulders, his throat, from behind the faint headache in his forehead. His breathing became slower and more controlled, as if he were falling into slumber…

Then he frowned. There was a distant, faint buzzing noise — almost a hum, but not quite — from somewhere far away. No, it was getting slowly louder. Closer. He sighed, recognizing what it probably was.

“Mikey, are you playing with that remote-controlled helicopter again?” he said loudly.

“Nope,” a voice called from the next room.

“Then what is that—“

Something crashed from the wall above him, loudly buzzing like a chainsaw, spraying him with bits of concrete and shards of metal. His shell protected him from the worst of it, but he was still thrown forwards, onto his hands, his legs twisted painfully under him.

For a moment he was too dazed to move, but he scrambled out from under the debris. He reached for his swords, pulling them loose despite a chunk of jagged concrete resting on his shell. Whatever it was — whoever it was — he had to stop it before it got to Donnie and his brothers —

_“Kill the rat.”_

The oddly mechanical voice sent a chill through Leo’s blood. He looked up at what was crouched above him — a strange mutant creature about the size of a child, with the faceted eyes and wings of a fly, but cyborg machine parts littered over itself. He had seen them before. It had been on Burnow Island before they had defeated Krang, when they had been attacked by—

“Baxter Stockman,” he gritted through his teeth.

As if backing up that conclusion, two Mousers flew in on tiny rotors behind the flyborg, their metal jaws already clashing and ready to chew through anything in their path — and Leo knew from experience that they could. Even worse, he could hear more mechanical voices buzzing from behind the wall, more rotors spinning — more flyborgs and Mousers.

“Mikey, Raph, we have to—“ he shouted.

But then he heard another wall being smashed in, more loud buzzing, and the sound of Raph shouting in surprise and rage. Leonardo’s heart nearly stopped. Donnie was helpless in there — paralyzed and unconscious — and even if those things didn’t get to him, the flying chunks of concrete might.

With a bellow, he slashed at the flyborg, deftly cutting the creature’s head from its body. But there were more coming — battering through the walls with inhuman strength, their bristling hairy limbs clawing to get through. More cracks appeared in the concrete walls and ceiling, and Leonardo couldn’t help but wonder how much abuse their lair would be able to take before the entire place caved in.

Then a streak of green and orange hurtled through the room, nunchaku spinning wildly as he smashed through Mousers, leaving only fragments of metal in his wake. Mikey’s face was unusually grim as he raged through the attacking insect mutants, lashing out at them as they attempted to swarm over him. 

“Leonardo, what is happening?!” Splinter cried over the hubbub, fending off a flyborg with his walking stick and his own fast-moving hands.

“It’s Baxter Stockman, Father!” Leo gasped, lashing out at another two flyborgs that were attempting to crawl into the room. “He sent — these things to—“

_“Kill the rat. Kill the rat.”_

“We must reach Donatello!” Splinter cried. “He is in great danger from these creatures—“

“I know, Father,” Leo said desperately, thinking of Raph’s cry from a few minutes before. “But right now, the one most in danger is you!”


	18. Escape

Another cascade of concrete fell from the ceiling, and Raphael felt as though someone had hit him in the back with an axe. He could only imagine how much pain Donnie had been in when he was hit with that sledgehammer, since Raph’s shell wasn’t even broken and he was about ready to pass out.

He strained upwards as another chunk of concrete bounced off his shell, feeling a stabbing pain in his upper back. His arms and legs trembled as he held himself suspended above Donnie’s head and torso, shielding his vulnerable brother from the worst of the debris with his own armored body. 

What the hell was going on here? One minute he had been sitting here cooling Donnie off, and the next he had spotted a crack in the ceiling — a crack that was dropping powdery dust. It snaked across the ceiling, before the concrete burst open and —

A faint moan came from underneath him, and Raph groaned. No, not now. 

_“Kill the rat.”_

Raph stiffened. He looked up to see a bristling, fly-like creature emerging from the hole, its metal parts glinting. In the extremely faint light from the camp lantern, it looked even more monstrous than it had on Burnow Island, like something creeping from a nightmare. 

And behind it were—

Raph’s right hand went to his sai, whipping it out and preparing to use it. Mousers. He hated Mousers. He especially hated them now — if he didn’t wreck them first, the little chomping bastard bots would descend on Donnie and try to chew him to bits. And with his back broken, he might not even feel it happening. He crouched down over his helpless brother, prepared to lunge out and slash at anything that came too close.

But to his surprise, both the fly creature and the Mousers — which seemed to be able to fly too — flew swiftly out of the room, ignoring both the turtles completely. 

And from the next room came the sounds of fighting — Raph could hear Leo shouting wordlessly, and the sound of his swords slashing at something metallic. It sounded like their eldest brother was giving these creatures a run for their money.

“R—Raph,” Donnie’s faint voice said under him. 

“Donnie?”

The wounded Turtle’s feverish eyes were swimming in panic. “What—what’s happening?”

_“Kill the rat.”_

“I don’t know,” Raph said grimly. He knew that Leo needed his help — he could hear his brother shouting back and forth with their father — and Master Splinter was the target of these… things. The metallic cries of “Kill the rat” still rang out in the air as more of them swarmed through the holes in the walls and ceiling…

But at the same time… he couldn’t abandon Donnie. 

“R—Raph,” Donnie panted, clutching at his wrist. “You have to go — help them — just go — I’ll be fine.”

“No,” Raph said grimly.

“Raph — please —“

Raph fumbled around at the head of Donnie’s bed, praying that the headset hadn’t been wrecked by the falling concrete. His hand closed on the slender device under a pile of concrete dust, but it seemed to have escaped any serious damage. He jammed it onto his head, wincing at how tight it was, and began fumbling with the buttons on the side.

_“Leonardo? What’s wrong?”_

“This ain’t Leo,” Raph roared. “Something bad’s happenin’ in our home, and we need Donnie transported away to someplace safe.” He still didn’t trust the machine after hearing what he planned to do to Donnie, but his brother was better off there than here. And with him safely away, Raph could get down to doing what he did best.

_“Understood. I’ll transport him in just a minute — let me lock on to his coordinates—“_

Raph clutched Donnie’s hand briefly. “You’re goin’ someplace safe, Donnie,” he said. “Don’t worry about us.”

“Be careful — Raph,” Donnie said with a faint smile. “Protect Father.“

“I will.” He reluctantly let go of Donnie’s hand, and watched as his brother’s body dissolved into a flash of pink energy. Then he pulled out both of his sai, and ran out into the living room.

More flyborgs and Mousers were lying dead and destroyed on the floor outside, with Leo and Mikey standing in the midst of them. Splinter was behind them his, walking stick battered from where the Mousers had chewed on it.

“Nice of you to join us, Raph,” Leo panted.

“Sorry I missed the fun,” Raph said. 

“Raphael,” Splinter said, wide-eyed. “You have not left Donatello alone, have you? He must be protected!”

“He is, sensei,” Raph said. “I got Fugitoid to get him away someplace else. He ain’t here anymore. He’s safe.” Or as safe as Donnie could be with a robot who wanted to cut off his shell, he reflected grimly. Once again, he privately reaffirmed his vow of what he would do to Fugitoid if anything bad happened to Donnie.

Splinter seemed to relax upon being told that his wounded son was out of danger, but Leo shook his head. “We have to get out of here,” he said. “More will be coming down any minute, and we can’t hold them off forever.” He turned to Mikey. “You take Father down to the sewer level and get him as far from here as you can. Raph and I will fend them off and join you later.”

“No problemo,” Michelangelo said, with the air of someone given a great task to undertake.

He seized Splinter’s paw and pulled his father down the stairs that wound down through their home, down past bedrooms, the kitchen, and the makeshift dojo with its weapons and punching bag. He could hear more buzzing and metallic voices far above them, along with the slashing sounds of Leo’s swords hitting solid objects.

Their home. Their place. Their sanctuary from the dangerous world outside. Now it had been breached, and Mikey could feel fear uncoiling inside him like a snake. This was how it had happened in their previous home.

Down at the very lowest level of their home was a wide-open room that opened out into the sewer system. There was even a pool of water feeding back out into the sewers, which Mikey sometimes emptied dirty mop water into. The important thing about it was that the sewer would eventually empty out into the river, which would allow them to escape.

Or at least it would allow the three turtles to escape. Master Splinter didn’t have their natural affinity for water.

But Mikey pushed that thought from his head, and focused on getting further down into the depths of their home. Leo would figure out what to do when the time came to escape — that was what he always did, come up with plans and solutions. 

_“Kill the rat.”_

Mikey’s eyes widened, and he turned to find the spiky, buzzing shape of a flyborg hovering behind him. He pushed Splinter behind himself, and whipped the nunchaku from his belt, whipping them up like twin cyclones.

The flyborg seemed to hover around him, as if unsure how to get around this irritating obstacle. _“Kill the rat,”_ it went again. _“Kill the rat.”_

“Don’t you know how to say anythin’ else?” Mikey said, approximately two seconds before he sprang forward at the flyborg. The thing was as dumb as it looked — it didn’t even fly out of the way as his nunchuck crashed down on its head, and the other one into its neck. It fell to the ground, dead — if it had ever really been alive, which Mikey was unsure about.

“Come on, Father,” he said. “Let’s get outta here.”


	19. Flight

The Fugitoid was afraid.

It would take something desperate for Raphael to call him, he knew. The red-masked Turtle had quite literally threatened him with death the last time they had met, and Professor Honeycutt had seen in Raphael’s wild eyes that he was not exaggerating. So when he heard Raphael shouting at him over the headset, demanding he transport Donatello somewhere safe, he knew that something truly dreadful must have happened.

He no longer had the ability to tremble when afraid, but he knew that in his old flesh-and-blood body, he would have been trembling as he keyed in the coordinates of Donatello’s bed. There was a flash of energy, and the figure of a mutant Turtle appeared on the gurney in front of him.

Honeycutt came closer and quickly examined his friend. Donatello appeared disoriented, his over-bright eyes wandering around the room aimlessly, as if he were searching for something he did not know how to find. His chest was heaving with every breath, and his hands gripped at the blanket covering his body, bunching it in his fists.

It also appeared that the medication Honeycutt had injected him with had not been a success. According to his scans, Donatello’s body temperature had elevated further since he had last seen him, and the area inside his shell was still badly infected. Externally, the robot could also see the evidence of this — Donatello’s body and face were slick with sweat, and he was shaking slightly.

“Professor,” Donatello breathed as the android came closer.

“Yes, Donatello,” Honeycutt said soothingly, patting his shoulder. “I am here. You’re safe.”

“My family—they’re in danger—“

“They will be all right, my friend. I trust in their strength and ingenuity — and I am arranging for them to receive help. We must busy ourselves in caring for your well-being instead — and that means bringing your fever down at all costs.” His green eyes slowly moved over to the contents of a nearby tabletop — a large metallic shell, similar to the broken one on Donatello’s back, and a canister of glowing green ooze.

 

Leo’s sword slashed through another flying Mouser, its jaws rattling loudly until Raph’s foot came down and crushed it. Then he swung upwards towards the last of the flyborgs as it came buzzing past him, heading down the stairs where Splinter had fled. It fizzed “Kill the rat” one more time before Leo’s sword cut it down in a flurry of wings and robot parts.

“Izzat all of them?” Raph panted.

Leo raised his head, and caught a distance, far-off hum. “No,” he said grimly. “There’s a whole bunch more coming this way. But we can’t just stand here all night and play whack-a-mole.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m getting sick of this,” Raph said breathlessly.

Leo plunged down the stairs that led to the lower levels, hearing Raph’s footsteps just a few steps behind. As they moved through the sunless passages that made up their home, he glanced over his shoulder, past his red-masked brother, almost dreading the sight of flyborgs and Mousers pursuing them. They were coming, and they were probably going to find the Turtles and Splinter since there was only one way for them to flee.

It wasn’t fair, he thought fiercely. It was a childish sentiment, but he couldn’t help feeling that it was true — surely they had suffered enough in the past few days without this. Surely their family had experienced enough pain without losing their home again! 

As they passed their bedrooms, Leo glanced down the hall, seeing the open door of his own perfectly ordered, serene little sanctuary. His carefully-trimmed bonsai tree. His practice gear. His incense. His old armor from his brief time in the Foot Clan. His tea set. It was silly of him to be so attached to material things during such a crisis, when their whole family was in danger, but he wondered if he would ever see that room again.

“Eyes front, Leo,” Raph huffed behind him.

“Right, sorry,” Leo said, forcing his gaze forward as they approached another staircase leading down into the lower levels.

Soon they opened the steel door that led into the sewer-level room. Mikey was already there, his nunchaku swiping furiously at a flying Mouser that was trying to get close to Splinter. His round face was fierce and desperate-looking, but he was just slightly out of range.

Leo lunged forward, pushing his little brother out of the way, and rammed the tip of his sword through the robot. It fell to the ground in crumpled pieces.

“Thanks,” Mikey panted. “I’m a little too short.”

Leo sheathed his sword. “We have to get out of here. There are more on the way.”

Mikey wilted visibly. “More? Seriously? How many of these things does Stockman have?”

“Dunno. I wanna know why he’s sending them after us,” Raph said grimly.

“We’ll have time for answers later,” Leo said, heading for the channel of sewer water that led out of their home. 

“Oh, please tell me we’re not—“ Raph moaned.

“We are,” Leo said. “The sooner we get in, the sooner we can get out again.”

“That’s disgusting,” Raph said, his face wrinkling in disgust. 

Leo dove into the channel, keeping his mind firmly focused on what had to be done rather than what was all around his body right now. Raph was right — it was disgusting, reeking and full of dissolved waste — but they could move faster by water than on foot. If they survived the next few hours, they could find a shower and some soap and scrub themselves raw.

Mikey seemed to be unbothered by what they were doing, happily doing a cannonball into the channel. Raphael slowly climbed in with an air of intense disgust, as if trying to put off the unpleasantness for as long as possible. And Master Splinter…

Leo grimaced. Master Splinter was gamely climbing down into the water, but their father clearly wasn’t as at-home in it as his sons were — unsurprising, since he was a rat and they were turtles. Leo knew from experience that he and his brothers could swim swiftly and smoothly through liquid, holding their breath longer than humans could, but he had no idea if his father could swim, let alone quickly.

He paddled over to Splinter, and turned his shell towards him. “Here, Father. Hang on to me,” he ordered. 

Splinter did was he was told, his clawed fingers curling over the edge of Leo’s shell as the young turtle prepared to swim. Mikey and a groaning Raph were already swiftly moving into the dark tunnels of the sewers. Leo kicked off the underwater wall and began quickly stroking his way through the filthy water, feeling his father as a reassuring weight against his back.

Still, it wasn’t easy — he couldn’t kick with his full strength with his father’s legs floating above his own, and he was overbalanced by the weight pulling back on his upper torso. But he forced himself belly-down in the water and swam with all the power his limbs could muster, driven by the memory of the fear-inducing buzz of approaching machines that he had heard up in their living room.

Mikey and Raph had to slow down occasionally to let Leo catch up, and he could hear their voices ringing out through the echoing sewer tunnels as they treaded water.

“Seriously, it’s no worse than swimmin’ in the river, Raph—at least there’s no dead fish!“

“You’re assumin’ I like swimmin’ in the river,” Raph retorted darkly. 

“Guys, focus,” Leo gasped as he passed them. “And try not to make so much noise. The flyborgs might be able to track us by it.”

They plunged ahead through underground rivers and tunnels, the only sound to be heard being the Turtles’ occasional gasps as they came up for air. It was a good thing, Leo reflected, that the sewer tunnel in their home led directly to the river, because he wasn’t confident that they could have navigated anything more complex. 

At least, he thought, the flyborgs and flying Mousers didn’t seem to be following them. He hadn’t heard their telltale buzz in the echoing tunnels for quite some time. He didn’t want to think of what the machines were probably doing to their home, though.

“My son — up ahead —“ Splinter said suddenly.

Leo caught a whiff of fresh air as his father spoke, and swam towards it with powerful strokes. The tunnel ended in a large drainage exit that led directly out into the river, and he could see the night sky and the glow of the moon over the gleaming expanse of water. For a moment his heart swelled at the sight — they were out of danger, and they had almost made it to the open. From there they could contact some of their allies — Angel, perhaps — and find a place to hide…

Then he heard a far-off hum, and saw many small gleaming specks in the distance, like glitter sprinkled across the sky. Specks that were getting larger. Closer. His stomach sank.

“Aw, dammit,” Raph said.


	20. Water

“How is he?” Harold asked.

“I wish his condition were better,” Honeycutt said grimly, scanning Donatello for the third time in the last minute. He had located the areas under his shell where the infections were the most concentrated — abscesses had formed, and more pus was leaking from his stitched-together flesh. He had fallen fitfully unconscious again, though Honeycutt doubted that the Turtle would be able to fully rest until he knew his family was safe.

He glanced over at the glowing canister on the table. The robot had hoped to be able to bring down the fever and infections without resorting to ooze. He had so little of it already, and every drop was needed to replace Donatello’s shell with the prosthetic one. But he couldn’t fuse the shell to an infected body — he might accidentally make things worse.

Which meant, he thought grimly, he might have to take riskier measures to obtain more of the precious fluid. On Burnow Island, there were many of Krang’s fellow Utroms, who were held in perpetual stasis while immersed in ooze. If he could siphon just a little of it from just a few of them…

“Are you sure this stuff will work?” Harold said, breaking through Honeycutt’s thoughts.

“I am,” Honeycutt said firmly. “But while I tend to Donatello’s injuries, your help is required. You must tell whatever allies the Turtles have to assist them now — it’s a matter of life and death.”

“Life and death, huh?” Harold said, sounding as grim as Honeycutt felt. “I’ll send what help I can, mainly that idiot girl and her fox friend, but it won’t be enough. It’s never enough for these maniacs.”

“Flyborgs,” Donatello suddenly murmured.

“What is that?” Honeycutt said, bending lower.

“Flyborgs attacking,” Donatello said, his glazed eyes fixing on his friend. “Fly mutants — cyborgs. And Mousers. They’re — after my family.”

“He’s delirious,” Harold said.

“Not — delirious,” the Turtle gasped, lifting his head from the table. “You gotta search for — a cloud of attacking bogies — airborne — that’s how you’ll know — where they are — to send help…”

“Do as he says, Professor Lillja,” Honeycutt said, gently pressing Donatello back down, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Search for a cluster of airborne signals moving through New York, and you may be able to locate Donatello’s brothers wherever they are headed.”

“Fine, fine,” Harold grumbled, and the screen went blank.

Donatello took a shuddering breath, and Honeycutt saw a few tears trickling from his eyes as he tried to keep himself together. The robot felt a pang as he remembered that for all his genius, for all his maturity, despite the role he had taken on to save the world, Donatello was still little more than a child. And right now, he was a terribly frightened one.

“Everything will be all right,” he assured Donatello warmly, placing a metal hand on his shoulder. “Right now, we must concentrate on getting you well again.” He moved to the nearest table and surveyed the canister of ooze, as well as a small hypodermic syringe. “And the first step is to attack that infection directly.”

 

Leonardo hoped that he never again had to swim with someone clinging to his back. Raph and Mikey were swimming swiftly through the water with the speed Mother Nature had gifted turtles with, and they were literally swimming circles as they waited for Leo to catch up. They had only minutes — maybe seconds — before the swarm of flyborgs and Mousers were upon them again, and this time they had no escape route. For all they knew, the flyborgs and Mousers were swarming down the tunnel they had just left.

Leo took a deep breath and plunged his head under the water, kicking vigorously from his hips as he tried to keep his back above water. Not for the first time, he was very grateful that turtles could stay underwater longer than humans could, because they couldn’t afford to waste any more time. If they made it to the bridge, perhaps they could find a place for Master Splinter to hide from sight… 

Everything under the water looked ghostly, especially in the pale moonlight filtering through the river. Mikey swam down past him, Raph hovering just behind, and gestured to the right. Leo turned his head in that direction, and saw a massive, weed-encrusted gray column rising out of the darkness below him. The bridge.

With a few more powerful arm strokes, Leo made it to the bridge’s support, and his head broke through the water with a loud gasp.  
“Better hurry, bro! They’re almost here!” Raph called out. 

“Climb — onto the bridge,” Leo gasped, pointing up. “Find someplace — to hide!”

Splinter did as he said. The mutant rat was almost as soaked as his son, his kimono sopping wet except around the chest and neck, and his fur was caked close to his skin. But he crawled over Leo’s shell and nimbly climbed up the stone blocks that made up the bridge.

Leo braced himself against the bridge and launched himself to where his brothers were treading water. Raph already had his sai out and clenched in his fists, an aggressive snarl on his face.

“Get ready to fight, guys,” Leo said, unsheathing the swords on his back. He wasn’t sure how well he was going to be fighting in the water — he didn’t have any leverage, any ground to push his feet against — but he was willing to give it a try.

Raph had apparently realized the same problem as the first of the flyborgs swooped down toward him, with the metallic cry of _“Kill the rat.”_ He jabbed his sai at it, but the tip barely grazed the creature’s hairy body. 

“Dammit!” he yelped, straining to raise himself out of the water.

Using his longer reach, Leo swiped his sword at the flyborg, clipping a wing and sending it plummeting into the water. A Mouser floated by, and was swatted down by one of Mikey’s nunchaku.

And then suddenly the air around them was swarming with both of Baxter Stockman’s creations — dozens of them, a whirring throng of metallic teeth and glittering fly eyes. Leo thrashed in the water as they all seemed to come after him at once — apparently whoever was in charge of the creatures had decided to take out the Turtles before turning their attention to Splinter.

A Mouser’s jaws closed right beside his head, and Leo twisted around to slash the machine in half, before feeling bristling hands seizing his shoulder and trying to drag him upwards. He still had no leverage, which gave less power to his slashes and thrusts. 

But with so many flyborgs and Mousers around him, he could barely move his swords without hitting something.They seemed to be raining down around him in a flurry of wings and shattered steel, but there always seemed to be more coming — and he was always one desperate stab away from having something bite or rip him.

Then he was interrupted by a loud cry that ended in a watery gurgle — a cry from Raph. His heart nearly stopped as he saw his brother’s hand sticking out of the water, only to be dragged down.

“Raph!” Leo bellowed, slashing a flyborg out of his way and half-swimming, half-hacking towards the spot where the red-masked turtle had gone down.

“Whoa!” 

He heard Mikey yelp behind him, and looked back just in time to see two flyborgs dragging his brother upwards by his left arm and his shell, kicking and struggling.


	21. Bridge

“Take a deep breath,” Honeycutt said soothingly, placing a hand on Donatello’s shoulder.

Donatello did as he said, his breath quavering as it went in and out of his lungs. Honeycutt had rolled him onto his plastron, with his head turned to the side so that the robot could see his face, and know immediately if what he was doing was causing the Turtle pain. The last thing he wanted was for Donatello to suffer even more than he already was.

“It seems a little too magic-potiony for my taste,” Harold grumped on the screen above them. “Inject it and everything heals.”

“It does seem a little hard to believe,” Honeycutt admitted. “Nevertheless, it really does have that effect.”

Or at least, he prayed to the Creator that it would have that effect. He wasn’t sure if the ooze would immediately neutralize the infections under his shell, or whether Donatello’s body would just absorb it towards all of his injuries and infections at once. He hadn’t made an extensive study of the substance and how it worked, let alone how it worked on the body of a mutated turtle. What he did know was that it had nearly limitless healing properties, and enough of it could work miracles.

And if he could neutralize the infections, he hoped that Donatello’s fever would break. When that happened, he could begin the surgical procedure to replace the broken carapace and perhaps regenerate the damaged flesh and nerves underneath… if he had enough ooze, that was. That little problem kept screaming in the back of his mind as he worked.

“Professor,” Donatello breathed.

“Yes, Donatello?” Honeycutt said gently.

“My family — I need to know —“

“I understand,” Honeycutt said, feeling a pang of sympathy as he remembered his own lost family.

He straightened and addressed Harold. “If it’s possible, could your associate feed information on what is happening to you? I need Donatello as calm as possible for this procedure, and right now he is preoccupied with what his family is experiencing. Any information about what is happening would be helpful.”

He just hoped the news was good, that the Turtles were fighting off the Mousers and flyborgs effectively. Any bad news would just agitate Donatello more, and hamper his chances of recovery.

“I’ll do what I can,” Harold said, before muttering, “Not that the damn girl ever listens to me…”

Donatello took another wobbly breath, and Fugitoid placed a hand on the Turtle’s head, stroking it gently. Once, when his son Ely had been very small, he had broken one of his legs trying to leap out of a tree. Honeycutt still vividly remembered his son’s weeping as the leg was splinted, and afterwards when the pain was still throbbing. He had held Ely and stroked his head gently, until his son had been soothed enough to fall asleep. He didn’t know if Donatello would be comforted by the same gesture — especially not from a cold metal hand — but he was willing to try.

After a few minutes, the Turtle’s breath began to come more evenly and strongly, and his eyes grew steadier. “I’m ready,” he whispered.

“Then I will begin,” Honeycutt said quietly, picking up the hypodermic.

 

Leonardo had only a split second to react — to choose which one of his brothers to go after. Mikey was being hoisted into the air by flyborgs, while a suicidal pair had dragged Raph down into the depths of the murky river. Splinter was gone. He had to save one of them.

He made his choice — Raphael — and plunged into the icy water. He had confidence that Mikey could handle the flyborgs and being dragged up to a great height, but he had less confidence that Raph could breathe down there once his air was used up. Besides, he had no reliable way of getting up in the air towards Mikey.

He could see the figures down below him in the ghostly, wavering light below — one stocky, muscular figure wrestling with two smaller ones. Bubbles poured from Raph’s throat as one of the flyborgs tried to strangle him from behind with a wiry, hairy arm; the other one had immobilized his thrashing legs so he couldn’t try to swim against them.

Leo’s eyes narrowed, and he kicked powerfully down towards the flyborgs, his sword already in his hand. The flyborgs were too absorbed in drowning Raph to notice the other Turtle approaching them, and the one gripping his legs didn’t see the sword coming. Raph went limp as the katanas lashed out and beheaded the one clutching at his throat, his eyes drifting shut before he could see his brother coming to his rescue.

Grimly, Leo wrapped an arm around Raph’s chest and began swimming as fast as his body would carry him, back to the surface. He wasn’t sure if he could do C.P.R. on a chest covered in a rigid plastron — even if he could easily make it to dry ground — but he was willing to try if he had to. He had to make sure Raph was breathing…

But as they broke through the surface of the river, Raph suddenly gasped and flailed around against Leo’s arm. “Gah… ah….” he wheezed. “Where—where’s Mikey?”

A loud whoop overhead answered his question, followed by a Mouser crashing down into the water, its jaws smashed open. A moment later, a streak of green and orange landed in the water, curled up into a cannonball.

Leo began swimming to where Mikey had landed, his heart in his throat. “Mikey, are you al—“

The youngest Turtle emerged from the water, a giddy smile on his face. “And that’s a perfect 10 from the South Korean judge,” he yelled, raising his fists over his head. “Michelangelo wins the gold medal!”

“He’s all right,” Raph wheezed. “Idiot.”

Relief flooded through Leo, as he looked at both his youngest brothers — bruised and a little battered from their adventures, but still alive and still ready to fight. Fight. He stiffened as he remembered that their battle was far from over — their father was up on the bridge, alone and undefended, and those shrieking flyborgs were still converging on it.

He glanced up at the bridge, and heard the far-off buzzing of rotors and oversized fly wings. They were still coming. Master Splinter was still in danger — he could still hear cries of “Kill the rat!” floating down from above, as if they hadn’t figured out what their goal was.

Leo began swimming swiftly to the bridge itself, hearing the rush of water as Mikey and Raph followed just behind him. When he came to the massive square stone column rising out of the water, he dug his fingertips between the stone blocks and hoisted himself out of the river. My kingdom for some shuko, he thought darkly.

It took what seemed like an eternity to scale the side of the bridge, using nothing but fingers and toes to propel himself up the sheer surface. But as he approached the top of the bridge, Leo heard the sound of metal being smashed, and grunts of exertion. Feminine grunts. Two sets of them. It couldn’t be…

“Watch your back!” a familiar voice called out, followed by a the sizzle of electricity.

Angel. And that meant the other voice had to be Alopex, the fox mutant who had defected from the Foot. Leo’s heart almost sang as he seized a cable and swung himself up onto the bridge. Finally something good was happening to them, even if they were still wildly outnumbered and surrounded by hostile robots and cyborg flies. And of course, they still didn’t know why Baxter Stockman was suddenly targeting them. But still, they had allies.

Splinter was standing with his back to Alopex and Angel, using his walking stick to smash a Mouser out of the air. Angel was tearing through flyborgs with almost reckless abandon, and Alopex was smashing Mousers out with precise kicks and strikes. But they were outnumbered — though diminished, Stockman’s forces were still too numerous for just a handful of opponents to finish off.

With a cry, Leo leaped onto the bridge and unsheathed his katanas, cutting down a flyborg approaching his father. “Form a defensive circle!” he shouted as his brothers followed him.

Angel and Alopex did as he said — the human in her powerful, face-concealing exo-suit, and the fox snarling and baring her teeth. Raph and Mikey settled easily into the circle with their father and friends, their weapons ready to lash out as soon as anything came close enough.

“Not a good time, KirbyFan,” Angel muttered. “We’re kinda surrounded by giant bugs here.”

Leo supposed she was talking to Harold — though why Harold was calling her was anyone’s guess. His eyes darted around at the air around them — it was buzzing and alive with machines and fly parts, steel jaws and glittering compound eyes. There were so many of them — dozens at the very least — and the worst part was that even if they could kill every last one of them, Stockman probably had hundreds more on the way.

Still, there was nothing else to do. They were after his father for some reason, and Leo would let them have Splinter over his cold dead body. He gripped his swords more tightly, and raised them above his head.

Then something caught his eye — the glint of steel in the high arches and columns of the bridge rising above them. His eyes widened as he took in dark shapes on the far end of the bridge, moving swiftly among the shadows and leaping from steel cables to the asphalt down below. And his heart sank as if someone had ripped it out and thrown it into the river below.

Foot ninja.


	22. Karai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A good chunk of the dialogue in this chapter is from the comics, mostly everything from Mikey's line onwards, mainly because the events on the bridge aren't really any different when Donnie is absent. I mean, he was there in the comics, but he didn't say or do anything.
> 
> Don't worry, original dialogue next time, especially since this story is told from the perspective of the Turtles.

“Ahh…. ahh…” Donatello moaned, his fingers digging into the table he was lying on.

“You feel that?” Honeycutt asked, concerned.

“Y—yes,” the Turtle said shakily. “K—keep going.”

The robot did as he was told, reaching past the sharp, broken edges of Donatello’s shell and sliding a hypodermic needle into the raw flesh underneath. Another groan came from Donatello, ending in a few panted breaths as he tried to maintain his composure. Somehow, he managed to keep his body still.

Honeycutt depressed the plunger, and watched as the glowing green ooze vanished into Donatello’s infected back. He had been hoping that Donatello’s broken spine meant that he wouldn’t feel anything as they combated the infection, but some of the affected areas were high up enough that he was feeling everything that happened. The robot briefly considered increasing the amount of morphine being fed into the Turtle’s arm, but he needed Donatello conscious and fully aware for just a little longer.

He removed the needle, feeling a shiver run through the body in front of him, and rested a hand on the ruined shell as he gave Donatello a few minutes to recover. His young friend’s eyes were tearful, and he was still breathing hard.

“Donatello,” Honeycutt said as gently as he could. “Are you feeling any sensations in the area I just injected?”

“I—yes,” Donatello said breathlessly. “A sort of—tingling.”

Honeycutt felt a rush of relief. “That’s a good sign,” he said, leaning down to look Donatello in the eye. “It means that the ooze is already working.”

Donatello just looked up at him from where he was lying on his belly, a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and his eyes still full of worry. He looked as if he didn’t have much optimism left.

Honeycutt looked towards the canister of ooze, his heart sinking at how much of it had been used just to combat the infection. But he would have time to worry about that later. There were still two other infected sites to inject before he could even think about the next stage of the procedure. 

“We’re almost done, but we still have a little more to do. Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

Donatello visibly steeled himself. “Go ahead.”

 

Leo wanted to scream at the others to look out, but they were already surrounded by deadly enemies. All he would do was distract them by shouting. The dark shadows were seemingly converging on them from all sides, their weapons glinting in the moonlight. And while Leo was confident in the abilities of everyone present to fight the Foot, fighting against greater numbers while also defending themselves from flyborgs and Mousers was… well, he suspected they wouldn’t be able to.

And then he saw something that dimmed his spirits even further — Karai. She was at the head of the Foot ninja, darting and leaping with her short black hair flying around her face. 

If Leo had not wanted to deal with Koya, he wanted to deal even less with Karai. She hated him, and had hated him ever since their very first meeting, when he had defeated her by divesting her of her sword and then head-butting her into unconsciousness. He supposed he had hurt her pride, because she had become progressively more hostile towards him in the weeks that followed, insulting his form, attacking him with knives and actively undermining him when he had been brainwashed into the Foot Clan. He suspected she hadn’t stopped even after he escaped from the Foot.

He raised his katanas, ready to meet her attack when she came for him — and he had no doubt that she would try to fight him first and foremost. She despised his brothers, she despised his father, she presumably despised Alopex for forsaking the Foot Clan and turning against Shredder… but she despised him in a very particular, personal way.

And Karai didn’t disappoint him. Her eyes fixed on him as she vaulted forward along the bridge, raising her katana over her head as she swung down toward him. Leo raised his own sword to block her—

—and saw her sword instead strike a Mouser.

He barely had time to recover from that surprise when she spun around and neatly decapitated a flyborg, sending its clicking, buzzing head rolling to his feet. Karai glanced briefly at him with a little smirk, as if enjoying the confusion in his eyes, then impaled another flyborg through the head.

And the other Foot ninja were following her example — not a single weapon was aimed at the Turtles, Splinter, Angel or Alopex. Instead they flung themselves at Baxter Stockman’s creations. Sai were jammed through Mouser heads, katanas and spears flashed through flyborg bodies, and a whirling manriki-gusari swept over their heads to take down a few of both that were attempting to descend on the small fenced-in group.

“I… do not understand,” Splinter said.

“Me neither,” Alopex murmured.

“Okay, now I'm totally confused, guys,” Mikey announced, looking down on the piles of destroyed flyborgs and Mousers.

Karai’s voice rang out across the bridge. ”It is simple, turtle — you do not deserve death by these machines. Not in the name of the Foot Clan."

Splinter’s eyes narrowed. ”Oroku Karai—what is the meaning of this?"

“Lower your weapons and I will explain.”

Raphael snorted."Yeah. Right. You must think we're pretty stupid."

To Leonardo’s surprise, she bowed slightly towards his father, her face showing… was it respect? “Will you hear me first, Hamato Yoshi?” she said.

A moment passed, and Splinter said, "Yes, I will hear you. Lower your weapons, my children.” When Raphael protested, the mutant rat patiently added, "Please, Raphael, do as I say."

Leo’s grip on his swords instinctively tightened. He trusted Karai as much as he trusted the Shredder, and he couldn’t be sure that she wouldn’t take the first opportunity to strike his father down when the Turtles put away their weapons. But his father’s quiet command rang out like a church bell as he spoke, and Leo reluctantly sheathed his swords.

Karai spoke again, sounding oddly formal and polite. ”Understand, what has happened here today was not out of mercy or compassion. My master wishes you destroyed, and as his chunin, I will see his orders through to completion. But I could not stand by and allow it to happen so…" Her face twisted in disgust. “… dishonorably."

Something clicked in Leo’s head. The Shredder was alive — Karai spoke of him in the present tense, without any of the rage that Koya had expressed before. If he had been dead, she would now lead the Foot Clan herself, but she was still subordinate to his wishes. He hadn’t died after all. Dammit.

And the Shredder had sent the Mousers and flyborgs. Perhaps he had hired Baxter Stockman to take out his hated enemy, using whatever means was necessary — it certainly explained why Stockman would attack them out of the blue, and why the machines had all been bent upon killing Splinter in particular. Oroku Saki had tried to take his revenge through proxies, rather than having the guts to face and defeat his enemies himself. 

And that explained why Karai had destroyed the Mousers and flyborgs. He knew from his time in the Foot Clan that she was deeply attached to the past of the Foot Clan — its traditions, its honor. She would never allow a clan feud to be handled with mechanical devices cooked up by a mad scientist.

"So now we can finish this with the proper manner—as true warriors,” Karai said, reaching for one of her katana.

Leo reached for his own, ready to take her on as soon as she made a move towards his father. Behind him, he could hear the metallic slide of Raph’s weapons being pulled from his belt, and the faint whir of Mikey’s nunchaku spinning. 

But oddly, Splinter seemed unconcerned by the threat of dozens of Foot ninja all around him, and the chunin of the Foot Clan prepared to slay him on the spot. 

"Hm. Indeed,” he said meditatively. “But first I would ask that you hear me.” His voice deepened slightly as he spoke to Karai directly, in a tone that was reproving without being accusatory. "You speak of honor and yet you are prepared to annihilate a small few with a great many. With such uneven numbers, what you call the warrior's way would be as unjust as allowing the machines to continue their attack.”

Karai’s hand froze on her katana. Her face was twisted with some strong emotion Leo couldn’t identify — it was as if she wanted to be angry, but her heart recognized the truth in the mutant rat’s words and forced her to not attack.

”But if it is truly honor that you seek, there is another way, Oroku Karai—you know this. A just and honorable way... steel against steel. The Foot way."

Leo’s brow wrinkled as he looked towards his father. He didn’t know what he was referring to — though Splinter had been part of the Foot Clan in a previous life, he had been forced to flee when his sons were very young. In their new lives, he had not taught them much about the clan’s traditions or ways of handling conflict, only about the dishonorable actions that had rotted away the heart of a once-great ninja clan. What did this “Foot way” entail? 

Splinter’s eyes met Karai’s, unwavering and unblinking. "Furthermore, if it's retribution Oroku Saki desires, then, as his chunin, it is your duty to ensure he does so in a way worthy of one who calls himself master.”

Karai’s eyes were distant, veiling her thoughts as she stood with her hand still clamped on her katana. Finally, she dropped her hand and raised her head. “So be it.”


	23. Explanations

“There,” Honeycutt said quietly, placing a hand on Donatello’s quivering, sweat-slicked shoulder. “That was the last injection.”

“Th—thank God,” Donatello gasped.

“Is it working?”

“Y—yes. It still hurts — a lot — but not as much,” Donatello said, his over-bright eyes clearing slightly. “My back — what I can feel of it — it’s tingling.”

“The infection should be diminishing even as we speak,” Honeycutt said comfortingly, moving his hand to Donatello’s, and feeling the young Turtle’s fingers close around his. “If I’m correct, the abscesses should be healed in a very short amount of time.”

Donatello’s face turned up towards his friend. “And then — what?”

“Your fever should break. When that happens, and your body has recovered enough, I will begin the procedure to replace your shell.”

A shudder ran through Donatello’s body, and Honeycutt winced internally. He could only imagine how horrifying such a procedure must sound to the young Turtle, especially with what Donatello knew of his own anatomy. The shell was such a large, important part of him that having it smashed and then removed… well, Honeycutt could only imagine what that kind of fear felt like. “Are you afraid?” he asked quietly.

Donatello did not answer right away, but the answer was clear on his face. “Yes,” he said at last. “It’s — really freaking me out.”

“Don’t worry, Donatello. It will feel no different than your old one,” Honeycutt said, hoping that he sounded comforting. Donatello was so wracked with worry that it could hamper his recovery, and his anxiety about the procedure itself was not helping. He didn’t seem able to relax and let his body rest, now that the infection was being eradicated.

Then Harold Lillja’s face appeared on the large screen above them, his bony face and bristling gray beard looming over Donatello like a mildly peeved god. “I’ve gotten news from Nobody,” he said matter-of-factly. “Donatello might want to hear this.”

Donatello braced his free hand against the table, and lifted his torso just high enough that he could turn his head towards Harold. “I’m listening,” he said nervously.

“Your family’s gotten away from the whatever-they’re-called, the robots,” Harold explained. “But they’ve run into those Foot Clan maniacs—“

Donatello’s eyes widened, and his fingers clutched convulsively at the edge of the table. “The Foot Clan?” he gasped.

Honeycutt inwardly cursed Harold’s lack of tact, and quickly pushed at Donatello’s shoulders to keep the young Turtle from trying to move. He had been hoping that Donatello would calm down, and instead the news had him so agitated that he was gasping for breath. “Donatello, you must remain calm,” he said as soothingly as possible. 

“But they — the Foot Clan—“

“Apparently they’ve formed some kind of truce with that ninja clan,” Harold said quickly, looking shaken at Donatello’s violent response. “She didn’t know what they meant exactly, but it seems that they’ve made some kind of agreement to fight it out in a duel, or something like that.”

Donatello’s breath slowed slightly, but his face was still twisted with anguish as well as pain. His hand clutched at Honeycutt’s, as tears sprang up in his eyes. “I should be with them,” he whispered. “I should be helping them — if anything happens — if they’re hurt because I wasn’t there—“

“You should be where you are,” Honeycutt said gently, placing Donatello’s hand on the table. “And I will do what I can to return you to them as soon as possible.”

 

They moved swiftly over rooftops and down empty streets, bathed in pale moonlight. Raph was used to that sort of thing — he and his brothers regularly made their way through the concrete mazes of New York, and he sometimes spent evenings with Casey roaming through the streets in search of criminals to beat up. He was used to this kind of outing, even if it was a little strange to have Splinter, Alopex and Angel there instead of Donnie.

What made it surreal was the muted footfalls of dozens of Foot ninja on every side of him, matching his speed but remaining at a respectful difference. Accompanying him instead of attacking him. And his sai were still firmly lodged in his belt instead of out in his hands, ready for the fight. It was the weirdest feeling imaginable.

“Father, what were you talking about?”

Leo’s voice broke Raph out of his reverie. He hadn’t spoken after Karai had made her agreement with Splinter, but Raph could see the struggle in his face at the idea of trusting the Foot’s honor. Either Karai’s conflict and agreement had been authentic, or she deserved an Oscar for her performance.

Splinter looked puzzled. “My son?”

“The — the ‘Foot way’ you mentioned. The just and honorable way.”

“Ah,” Splinter said as they leaped down into the street below, landing lightly before crossing into an alley. “The Gauntlet. I have not mentioned this to you before, because I did not wish to undertake this unless there was no other choice — and because I did not believe that Saki would honor it.”

“So is it like… some kind of contest?” Mikey asked uncertainly.

“In a way, Michelangelo.” Splinter plunged into a dark alley, vanishing into the shadows as his sons followed him. Raphael grimaced as the Foot ninja melted into the darkness around him, not liking the feeling of not seeing them around him.

A troubled expression crossed Splinter’s face. “The Gauntlet is… a rite. An ancient rite that has existed in the Foot Clan since its inception — a way for warring clans to settle their feuds once and for all.”

There was something about his tone that made Raph’s stomach sink. A glance at Leo and Mikey’s faces showed that he wasn’t alone.

“A challenge is issued from one clan to the other, from one master to another. When accepted, it is with the knowledge that this will be the conclusive end of the feud — both sides are honor-bound, and the results are final. When the Gauntlet is over, one way or another, you will no longer be ensnared by Saki’s hatred for our family.”

“That’s good, right?” Mikey said feebly.

Splinter did not speak at once. When he spoke again, he did not respond to Mikey.

“The first part of the rite involves the two masters each selecting four students or soldiers to represent them in battle. The two groups shall fight one another on behalf of their clan until all of the combatants on one side have been defeated.”

“Four people — but — we don’t have Donnie,” Mikey said.

“I know, my son,” Splinter said quietly. “Some solution will present itself.” 

Raph looked up as they emerged into another street, seeing a large building rising above them, glittering in the reflected lights of the city. He felt a chill run through his body. He had been there once before — when his family had attempted to steal an ancient book kept by the Foot Clan — and he did not have fond memories of what had happened there. The only good memory he had of the place was when he had left it on a motorcycle. That had been fun.

“You said the first part,” he said. “What’s the second part?”

Splinter did not slow down, but Raph saw a sorrowful expression cross his face. “The victors of the first round are allowed to fight alongside their master when he battles his opponent, giving one clan a distinct advantage. But no matter what the outcome of the first round, it will end in only one way: Oroku Saki and I will fight to the death.”

A chill went through Raphael at the words “to the death.” He probably shouldn’t have expected a Foot Clan rite to end any other way — especially not with Saki in charge — but it still made him feel nauseous. His father was trying to sound optimistic, but there was too much sorrow, too much worry in the way he was speaking. 

Well, there was only one way to handle it. They would have to win the first round, so they could fight alongside their father. There was no way Raph was going to let his father battle that murderer alone.


	24. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of the dialogue spoken in this chapter is from the comics. Don't worry, original stuff next chapter.

Donatello’s fever had finally broken.

Honeycutt examined the young Turtle for what felt like the hundredth time, feeling relief flood through him at what his sensors told him. Donatello’s body temperature was a full two degrees lower than it had been an hour before. His breathing had also become less labored and ragged, and he no longer seemed to be trembling.

“How do you feel, Donatello?” the robot asked quietly.

“Mmm,” Donatello murmured, his eyes drooping. 

Honeycutt wasn’t surprised by the response. The strain on Donatello’s body had left him exhausted, and the heavy amounts of painkillers now flooding his body had dulled the raw pain emanating from his back enough that he could rest. He could only imagine the relief to Donatello. It was a relief to his robot friend as well — seeing Donatello struggling through his constant agony had been painful to watch.

He glanced over at the metal shell resting on the table beside the partially-empty ooze canister. It had been made with special alloys found only in Dimension X, the only place where he could construct a replacement shell that was light enough for Donatello to carry, strong enough to replace his natural shell, and carefully designed to be as much like the old one as possible. Honeycutt had plumbed his own memory banks to uncover every remembered detail about Donatello’s anatomy, and was thankful that as an android, his memory was completely infallible. It was perfectly shaped to Donatello’s body, and only by touch would it be distinguishable from his natural carapace.

It normally would have taken longer to construct, but King Zenter of Neutrino had been horrified to hear of the plight of one of their saviors. He had immediately put all resources necessary at Honeycutt’s disposal, allowing the robot to construct the shell in hours rather than days.

Now came the surgery itself. He had to separate most of Donatello’s old shell from his body — excepting his spinal column, which was fused to the shell — and bond the new shell to Donatello’s flesh. It was a simple procedure in itself, but what worried Honeycutt was the fact that the ooze was so scarce. He hadn’t really had enough to begin with, and he had had to use some of it to combat the infection.

And there were other worries — Donatello had suffered massive internal injuries during the assault by Rocksteady and Bebop. Though he was no longer in critical condition, those inner wounds still needed to be healed if he was going to recover. He needed ooze. A great deal more of it than they had.

Honeycutt’s eyes were slowly raised to the glowing orbs suspended from the ceiling, each one with an Utrom sleeping in suspended animation. Each one floated in a blanket of ooze.

 

This felt wrong.. All of it.

Michelangelo didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be doing this. The wrongness of it itched at him like a tickle under the edge of his shell, and all he wanted to do was run away. Not out of fear, but because he didn’t want to be a part of this. 

He didn’t want to be in the Foot Clan’s headquarters. He didn’t want to be surrounded by Foot ninja. He didn’t want to be preparing to fight the Gauntlet. He didn’t want to fight the Gauntlet at all — not if it meant killing, and risking the lives of his family for the tiny chance that Oroku Saki would stop trying to kill them all.

As they approached the building, Mikey felt himself squirming, and looked at his brothers. Leo looked grim and troubled, and he hadn’t spoken more than a couple of sentences since Father had made his agreement with Karai. Raph looked like he had a really bad stomachache, and he kept glaring around at the various Foot ninja surrounding him.

Then he looked to Donnie. It took him a moment to remember that Donnie wasn’t there. Donnie was… well, “safe” wasn’t the word exactly. Away. He was away from all this. And Fugitoid was going to make him better, Mikey told himself.

He heard a voice screaming from somewhere ahead of him, through a round hole punched in the wall. He supposed it was left over from when Father and the Mutanimals had attacked the place. And he recognized the voice — Baxter Stockman. It made anger spike up inside Mikey, as he thought of the two homes Stockman had stolen from him.

“Your ninjas, you spike-headed fool!” the scientist was shouting. “They destroyed my robots before I could exterminate the rat and his brood!”

Shredder’s deep voice replied, “Hear me now, Stockman. Whatever has happened, you would do well to control your tongue.”

“Yes, gaijin, you would,” Karai called out. 

An arrow sang forth from her bow, and buried itself in Stockman’s electronic control case. Blue electricity sputtered forth from it, illuminating Stockman’s outraged face.

Mikey tensed as Karai dropped to her knees before Shredder, who was screaming at her. For a moment, he thought that Shredder was going to stab her dead on the spot — which would leave them without the one person who had agreed that the Gauntlet was necessary.

Then a smooth, silken woman’s voice spoke out to Shredder. “If you strike down this child now, do you act any less rashly than she? You are the master of the Foot Clan. Will you not hear your chunin’s testimony before you deliver your sentence?”

Michelangelo shuddered. He knew who that woman was — she was dressed in a purple kimono and stood in the shadow of Shredder’s throne, whispering poisonous words. Kitsune. The fox witch who had brainwashed Leo into fighting against his family and joining the Foot Clan. Mikey had never seen her up close and personal, but he knew she wasn’t someone to mess with — and he was willing to admit it, he was scared of her. 

Karai stood and began talking — and Mikey tuned her out before long. She was mostly uttering a long-winded speech about her clan, about honor, and about Shredder’s obsession with Splinter. It seemed to be aimed more at the Foot Clan in general than to her grandfather in particular; Mikey found it kind of boring, especially when he was so distracted by what his father had told him about the Gauntlet.

“Your chunin speaks the truth, Saki. It is far past time we resolve this war between us,” Splinter said, moving to the front of the crowd. His three sons followed close behind him, their faces grim. “I, Hamato Yoshi, formally challenge you, Oroku Saki, to the Gauntlet.”

“Absurd! I will not sully myself with such nonsense. Foot! Slaughter them al—“ Shredder bellowed.

“Wait!” Kitsune called. “My beloved…. wait.” 

Golden energy seemed to swirl around her, and Mikey shivered again. She murmured honeyed words urging Shredder to accept the challenge and prove that his rule was “above reproach,” that he had nothing to fear from “a decrepit rat and his reptilian children.” All the while, the golden magic seemed to swirl around Saki, and he silently listened to her words as if nothing else in the world mattered.

Mikey looked away from her, not wanting to accidentally catch her eye. He wondered briefly if Shredder was a little brainwashed by her too, but didn’t realize it.

Finally Shredder said, “Very well, Hamato Yoshi. Let your second death at long last seal your place as traitor to the Foot Clan. I accept your challenge.”

Mikey suddenly felt sick to his stomach as their mortal enemy spoke those words. It was done. They couldn’t go back. All four of them were locked into the combat, irrevocably and unchangingly — and even though Mikey’s mind screamed at him that this was all wrong, he knew that he was going to fight. He didn’t have a choice, and maybe he never had.


	25. Prelude

“What are you waiting for?” Harold’s voice boomed through the room. 

Honeycutt flinched inwardly, and placed his hands on Donatello’s arm. That got a response from the wounded Turtle — his eyelids fluttered open, and he sleepily gazed upward at the robot’s face, seemingly only barely aware of his surroundings. That wrenched Honeycutt’s heart even more — the desire to make Donatello well again, whatever the cost.

Whatever the cost. But the cost was too high.

“There’s no time to waste, Honeycutt! You have a new shell ready for him, he’s no longer infected, and you’ve been wasting time all evening. Get on with it.”

“I—I wish I could, Harold,” Honeycutt said. “But the moral issues associated with it are… I simply cannot overcome them. It’s much more complicated than simply undertaking this operation.”

“How is it complicated?” Harold erupted. “It’s perfectly simple! He needs to be healed, and you can do that.”

Honeycutt turned away from Donatello, and towards the ooze-filled resting places of the Utroms. Pink, fleshy creatures asleep in little seas of green translucent liquid, their tentacles floating before them. He had connected flow-tubes to many of their tubes, ready to pump the precious ooze to Donatello at the flick of a switch. All he needed to do was activate it, and his friend would be well again. His internal injuries healed, his shell replaced… just as he had been before Rocksteady had crushed him. 

_And I can’t do it,_ Honeycutt thought heavily. He placed his hand on Donatello’s. _Forgive me, my friend._

“I can fuse the artificial shell to Donatello’s body,” he said at last. “I may have enough ooze for that. But the ooze is necessary to heal his internal wounds, which are extensive and cripplingly severe… and removing it would risk permanent harm to the Utroms in stasis. It might kill some of them.” The robot bowed his head. “I want to help him, Harold. More than anything. But I… I cannot harm innocents to do so. And I know Donatello would never forgive me if I did.”

“Then perhaps I can offer you a third option,” a deep voice rumbled from behind him. A massive shadow loomed over Honeycutt, from a hulking form silhouetted in the doorway. “But only if you will help me with my situation in return.”

 

“This is totally insane,” Mikey mumbled. He looked to Raph and Leo, both staring grimly at their opponents, and finally to his father’s determined yet sad face. 

They were standing at one side of a fighting arena, its high ceiling hung with Foot Clan banners like a constant reminder of where they were. The Foot ninja crowded the two levels above them, a sea of black-masked figures with the occasional Elite red mask, some cheering and waving their katanas to encourage the Foot warriors in their fight. Mikey just wished they would shut up and let the battle speak for itself.

Alopex and Angel were standing off to the side, beside Kitsune. For some reason, that made Mikey very uneasy, but he wasn’t sure why.

And in front of them… oh boy. Shredder stood glaring at them with eyes as intense and unblinking as hot coals, as if he could defeat them through hate alone. And around him were his four champions — Rocksteady, Bebop, Koya and Bludgeon. The four worst options, as far as Mikey was concerned. Bludgeon was tough, and his spiky rows of teeth were pretty scary stuff. Koya was crazy, and she wanted to eat Leo. 

And Rocksteady and Bebop… they were the worst, as far as Mikey was concerned. He had seen them fight, and they were nearly unstoppable juggernauts, able to shrug off devastating attacks that would have leveled any other mutant. Even a skilled ninja like Leo had been tossed around by then like a rag doll. The only way the Mutanimals and the Turtles together had managed to defeat them was by dropping a building on their heads… and that hadn’t even stopped them, only slowed them down enough for everyone to get away. 

And now he and his brothers had to fight them. It was like a nightmare, going up against the four strongest mutants they knew of besides Slash. Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to have Slash on his side. The giant snapping turtle might actually turn the tide in this fight, or at least give someone a run for their money. But instead they had an empty space where Donnie usually stood, and the lingering thought of where their brother was now, and the question of what was happening to him.

“Totally insane,” Mikey repeated. “Father, are we really supposed to kill each other?”

“Only Saki or myself must die today,” Splinter said quietly. “For the rest, defeat will suffice.”

“Like they’ll let us live if they beat us,” Raph muttered.

“Father… I can’t do this. I can’t kill someone — not even Oroku Saki,” Mikey stammered.

His father’s face softened slightly, and he placed a hand on Mikey’s shoulder. “I know this, Michelangelo. But Saki will never stop hunting our family, never cease seeking revenge against us, unless something is done to stop him. When either he or I is gone, you will be free of him. I do not wish to die, my dear son, but I also do not wish to see you constantly threatened by him. We have nearly lost Donatello because of Saki, and I will not allow our family to suffer any more losses. When this is over, my beloved children will be free of Saki, one way or another.” 

Mikey wanted to cry. He knew it wasn’t the time or place, but he suddenly felt so miserable, so trapped, that it took all his self-control to keep his eyes dry. He swallowed hard instead, and clutched at his nunchaku.

“I get dibs on the rhino,” Raph muttered. “Nobody else gets to kill him but me. I’ll crack his spine with that stupid hammer of his. See how he likes bein’ paralyzed.”

“Do not fight in a rage, Raphael,” Splinter urged him. “It will make you careless.”

Mikey’s eyes slowly moved across the wall of giant mutants in front of him. He suddenly felt very small and very vulnerable beside them, even though he knew he was better trained than any of Shredder’s mutants. Koya was fast and she could fly. Bludgeon had that tail and thick shark skin. Rocksteady and Bebop were just freakishly strong in every way.

Koya would want to fight Leo, since she hated him more than any of the rest of the Turtles, and she was probably still sore about losing that last fight. Raph had already called dibs on Rocksteady. Mikey’s eyes moved from the grinning pig face of Bebop to the spiky-toothed snarl of Bludgeon. He had to fight at least one of them, but which one? And could he fight effectively when there was a fourth opponent just roaming around, able to gang up on any one of the Turtles he chose to? Maybe on all of them, one after the other?

“Clan Hamato,” Karai’s voice rang out like a gong. “You are permitted four champions to represent your clan in the Gauntlet, yet I see only three.”

“Their fourth lies dead,” Shredder said. He sounded pleased with himself. Smug.

A deep growl rose from Raph’s chest, and his knuckles turned white under his green skin as he clenched his fists around his sai. For a moment, Mikey thought that he was going to lunge forward and attack Shredder, regardless of the Gauntlet’s rules. Leo seemed to fear the same thing, because he flung his arm out across Raph’s chest.

“Not now,” he whispered. “If we win this round, we’ll have a chance to punish him for it later.”

Raph grimaced, but the possibility of being able to fight Shredder later on seemed to have reined him in. He hadn’t loosened his grip on his sai, though.

“Clan Hamato,” Karai called out again. “Is there another who will fight alongside you, or will you fight with only three?” Her fierce black eyes betrayed no hint about whether she liked the idea. 

Splinter took a deep breath, and stepped forward to speak. But as he opened his mouth, another voice rose across the arena. 

“I’ll fight for them.”


	26. Fourth

“You are…” Honeycutt gasped, his green eyes brightening as he focused on the hulking shape in the doorway. “Who are you?”

A long, scaled tail uncoiled around the figure, moving across the floor with deliberate slowness. “You might as well ask the more obvious question: What am I?”

“I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” Harold muttered, adjusting his glasses.

“I—I think I know what you are,” Honeycutt said, trying to regain his composure. “You are a mutant. And an alligator.”

“Very astute of you,” the mutant said, taking a deliberate step into the room, and turning his long head from side to side. He was massive, all heavy muscles and jagged-looking scales, looming high above Honeycutt as he moved closer to him. Scars ran across his broad chest and sloping shoulders. He was dressed, oddly enough, in a ragged and torn orange pair of pants, with the remains of a metal belt around his waist. 

His yellow eyes fixed on the robot scientist, and then slid towards Donatello. The Turtle was still lying there, semiconscious, a faint tremble passing through his body. His eyes fluttered open again, staring at this strange new mutant with a faint air of confusion.

“You may call me Leatherhead,” the alligator rumbled. 

He took another step towards Donatello, and Honeycutt quickly placed himself between the injured Turtle and this strange new mutant. He didn’t know why Leatherhead was here, but he did know that Donatello was helpless — and though he didn’t have a prayer of stopping Leatherhead if he decided to attack Donatello, he could at least try.

“Pardon me for eavesdropping,” Leatherhead said. “It was very rude of me. But as I understand it, your friend here has been badly injured.”

“He—he has,” Honeycutt said.

Those yellow eyes roved up and down Donatello’s body, examining the ugly bruises and the broken remains of his shell. “And if I’m not mistaken, you are in need of the Utroms’ ooze.”

“Yes, we are,” Honeycutt said warily.

Leatherhead reached behind himself, and produced a massive canister of a glowing, viscous green liquid. If Honeycutt still possessed the ability to gasp, he would have done so. The amount of ooze in that canister would easily allow him to both bond Donatello’s new shell to his body, and heal his many internal injuries as well. And it wouldn’t require him to pump any out of the Utroms’ tubes — they would be safe also.

“Then I see I have something to bargain with,” Leatherhead said.

 

Silence fell over the arena. Even the cheering ninja on the upper levels were silent as they looked around, craning their necks to see who had volunteered to fight on the outnumbered, outmuscled Clan Hamato’s side. Only someone very brave — or very stupid — would go up against one of the Shredder’s powerful mutant soldiers.

Leo’s eyes widened, and his head turned quickly to the right, where the voice had come from. “Angel?” he gasped.

The young woman stepped forward, her dusky face set in a determined scowl. “I’m fightin’ for Clan Hamato,” she announced. “Count me in.”

“Angel, you can’t,” Leo said. “This isn’t your fight—“

“That’s bull, Leo,” Angel said sternly. “You need a fourth fighter, and I’m willing to be that. I wasn’t able to — to do anything for Donnie, but maybe I can fight instead of him.”

Alopex put a hand on her friend’s arm. “Angel, stop. This should be my fight — I owe the Turtles so much already, and I wasn’t able to help Donnie either. I can be their fourth fighter…”

Then something strange seemed to happen to the mutant fox; she seemed to sway and stumble, her fingers gripping Angel’s arm for support. Raph started forward to help her, but she regained her balance and stepped back, putting one hand to her head as she tried to get herself back to normal. 

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Just a — dizzy spell.”

“Then you’re definitely not fighting,” Angel said. “You can’t afford a dizzy spell when you’re fighting one of those monsters. I’m going, Alopex, and that’s the end of it.”

“Yes… maybe you’re right,” Alopex said reluctantly, stepping back against the wall, her hands tightly clasped together.

Angel winked. “Plus, I got some surprises those monsters don’t have.”

Leo frowned as he saw the mutant fox’s face. There was something about it that didn’t look quite right — an odd blankness in her eyes that shouldn’t have been there, as if her mind was somewhere else. Alopex wasn’t the sort of person to look that way; she was all alertness and watchfulness, all coiled energy waiting to be unleashed. And from all that he knew of her, she wouldn’t have normally backed down so quickly.

And out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kitsune’s mouth curve into a sly smile. When he turned his head towards her, the witch’s expression had deepened into a mocking smirk. She was taunting him with her eyes, laughing at him not knowing what she was doing.

But he didn’t have time to figure out what Kitsune was up to. Angel was stalking towards them, encased in her armored exo-suit from head to toe. The only part of her that was exposed was her face, and the tinted faceplate would soon slide down to hide that. Leo wasn’t entirely sure what the exo-suit did, but it seemed to make her stronger, more resilient, and it had a plethora of hidden gadgets like light refraction, tasers and anti-gravity that she could use against her enemies. But she was at heart a street fighter, and he didn’t know if that would be enough against a foe like Bebop or Bludgeon.

Karai looked mildly annoyed at the delay, and her dark eyes fixed on Angel as she stood beside Splinter. “Clan Hamato, do you accept this woman as one of your fighters?”

Splinter nodded once. “We do.”

“Awesome, Angel,” Mikey murmured, giving her a strained smile.

Karai unsheathed her katana. “Clan Hamato,” she called out, “you are the challengers in this rite, and you stand ready to uphold that challenge.” 

Splinter bowed formally, his sons copying the gesture. After a moment of confusion, Angel did as they did, pressing her fist into her open hand as she bowed.

“Clan Foot,” Karai continued, “you stand ready to defend against the challenge by Clan Hamato. Are you ready to prove the worthiness of your cause?”

“We are,” Shredder said. He bowed as well along with Bludgeon, Koya and Bebop; Rocksteady seemed more interested in fondling his hammer and frowning at the delay.

“Then the Gauntlet begins,” Karai shouted, slashing her katana between the two groups.

Leo felt his stomach clench as the four giant mutants began to move towards the middle of the arena. Karai was moving toward them with a confident air, her face proud and smiling. But suddenly Shredder pointed at her. “You will not participate,” he said darkly. “You will simply watch from the side as you await my judgement.”

“But… but, grandfather,” she said, her eyes wide.

“Do not think I will permit you this after what you have done, Karai,” he snarled. “I have agreed to the Gauntlet, but I have neither forgotten nor forgiven your actions on this night. When I have slaughtered Hamato Yoshi, I will then deal with your transgression.”

Leo glanced over at his father, who was watching the conflict with wise, sharp eyes. He was watching the four combatants closely as they prepared to fight, studying each of their faces. Then he turned towards Leonardo, and said quietly, “They will not fight as you and your brothers do, my son. They are disorganized, discordant — they will not fight as one, because they have not been trained as one. They have greater size and strength than you do, but you have learned to fight as one, with discipline, training and thought. With these, I believe you can triumph.”

“I understand, sensei,” Leo said grimly. 

He cast a look at Angel, feeling a pang of guilt for her exclusion from Splinter’s lecture. She was one of them — she had volunteered to be — but she had never fought with the Turtles like this before, and she didn’t know their training, their teamwork, their iron-clad discipline. She was trying to fill Donnie’s shoes, but she couldn’t. No one else could.

Still, Leo was grateful for her presence. She was putting her life on the line to help them, and having four combatants instead of three might make the difference between winning and losing — it might keep the fourth Foot mutant from ganging up on them. He just hoped she was nimble and skilled enough to hold her own against Bludgeon or Bebop.

“I’m sick of sittin’ around and bowin’,” Raph snarled, spinning his sai. “Let’s do this!”

And they lunged forward into the fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some clarification of what's going on with Alopex, in the comics Kitsune is brainwashing her into being her slave - so obviously the witch wouldn't want her to fight on Clan Hamato's side!


	27. Fight

Donatello’s eyes fluttered, and a faint moan escaped him as he struggled through the haze of painkillers and exhaustion. He could still feel the shattered-glass pain of his broken back, but it was dulled, distant… bearable, almost. The rest of his body felt heavy and numb, barely moving as he tried to follow what as going on around him.

Though bleary eyes, he could see two figures standing nearby, looking over him. One was the Fugitoid. The other… he must be hallucinating. The other figure was a hulking reptilian form that loomed over him, its long snout locked in a perpetual toothy grin. It was a mutant alligator. But that wasn’t possible, was it? Not on Burnow Island… the mutagen couldn’t have gotten loose on Burnow Island…

“What is it you want?” Professor Honeycutt was saying, his voice full of concern.

“Safe passage,” a deep, rolling voice said. “Off this deadly island, to New York City.”

Donatello felt the cool metal of the professor’s hand press against his arm. His heard turned almost automatically towards his friend, his eyes struggling to stay open. He was tired — so bitterly tired — but he wanted to hear what was going on around him too.

“And in exchange,” Honeycutt said quietly, “you will provide me with enough ooze to save my friend’s life?”

“Of course,” the alligator said matter-of-factly. “It seems a fair agreement to me.”

“Then get on with it,” a tinny voice said.

“Harold!” Honeycutt exclaimed.

“What? The walking purse has a point,” the old scientist said fiercely. “New York is already swarming with these damned mutants, so what’s one more? And in exchange, you can start healing Donatello right away.”

Honeycutt’s face no longer moved with his emotions, but Donnie could sense turmoil inside his friend. The robot slowly turned to look down at Donatello, his green eyes meeting the Turtle’s brown ones. His hand firmly patted Donatello’s forearm, as if sensing the Turtle’s uncertainty, and then he turned back towards the alligator.

“We accept your offer,” Honeycutt said quietly.

 

His father had told him not to attack in anger, but Raphael couldn’t help it — it was boiling inside him, all the pent-up rage he had been suppressing ever since they found Donnie limp and bled-out on the lab floor. If he held it back any longer, blood vessels in his brain were going to rupture. He had to let out the flood of anger — and now he finally had the perfect target.

Rocksteady’s hammer missed by inches, crashing into the concrete floor. “You want your shell smashed too, Turtle?” he sneered.

The sight of the sledgehammer only made Raph angrier. That was the hammer that had nearly killed Donnie — the one that had cracked his shell open and left him to bleed out like a slaughtered animal. The only thing he wanted now was to grab that hammer and smash open Rocksteady’s empty skull with it.

“He cried like a little baby when he died,” Rocksteady said, grinning at him. “Begged me not to kill him when I bashed it in. It was pathetic.”

For a split second, Raphael’s vision went completely red, as if a layer of blood had seeped over his eyes. Even though he knew that Rocksteady was lying — Donnie was still alive, and there was no way he had begged his enemies for anything — the idea of this filth slandering his wounded brother was more than he could stand. He wanted Rocksteady dead.

He leaped toward Rocksteady’s head, kicking with both feet hard enough to snap back the rhino’s head. He swung up and around onto the other mutant’s shoulders while he was dazed, his sai clutched in his hands and ready to stab. “Beg for this,” he snarled, before arcing them downward.

Angel was standing in the middle of the arena, watching as Koya swooped around her. The bird had a vicious smile on her face as she surveyed the armored human, her eyes glittering like poisonous gems. “I’ve never tasted human before,” she sneered. “I wonder what you taste like.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to keep wondering,” Angel said, raising an arm. 

Koya barely dodged as a wave of anti-gravity battered past her, sending her wings spinning down to the dusty floor. She screeched in rage, and lashed out with her claws, but they glanced off the thick kevlar armor.

Across the arena, Leo had charged directly at Koya, only to find a massive gray shape blocking his way, bristling with teeth as it snapped at him. A massive gray forearm swung at him, and he only barely held it off with one of his katanas. 

“You won’t get the best of her again,” Bludgeon roared, his tiny black eyes gleaming as he surged forward, pushing Leo backwards onto his shell. The shark was too large and too strong for him to handle alone — all Leo could do was push frantically into Bludgeon’s abdomen with both his legs, and fend off the massive gray arms with his katanas. He felt like he was trying to stop an avalanche — not only was Bludgeon all heavy muscle, but his thick rough skin was hard to pierce.

Out of the corner of his eye, Leo could see Mikey, who seemed to be doing pretty well — he hadn’t actually hurt Bebop, but he was nimbly leaping and bouncing around the mutant warthog, frustrating him by vaulting over his head and out of his reach. Not a bad tactic, wearing his enemy down and making him move unwisely. Unfortunately, Leo couldn’t afford to let Mikey continue. 

“Mikey,” he groaned, his hands trembling as he pushed upwards. “Need some help!”

“Coming!” Mikey shouted, and leaped past Bludgeon, smashing his nunchaku into the shark’s face. He staggered back with a roar, a bloodied tooth falling from his mouth.

“Look what I got,” Mikey crowed, holding up the giant shark tooth.

He pulled a shaky Leo to his feet, and Leo marveled at his little brother’s resilience. Not long ago, Mikey had been devastated by the fact that they were even in the Gauntlet, fighting for their lives and possibly facing having to kill. Now he was doing the best out of all of them, and still lighthearted enough to rejoice at getting his hands on a souvenir.

“Leonardo, do not falter!” their father called out. “Your enemies are still attacking!”

Koya swooped down from above, and for a moment Leo thought she was coming toward him. Then he saw a purple-armored figure hanging off the hawk’s legs, helplessly dangling as the screeching mutant headed straight for Rocksteady — no, not for Rocksteady, but for the red-masked Turtle standing on his shoulders, stabbing furiously with his sai. With a sharp mid-air turn, Koya sent Angel flying helplessly into Raphael, knocking the Turtle off Rocksteady and sending them both falling into a heap of tangled limbs.

Leo didn’t have the opportunity to help them. His swords lashed out towards Bebop only for the massive fist to smash into his face. Leo felt as though something had jarred loose in his skull, as sparks flew in front of his eyes. He almost flew back, his head nearly landing on Raphael’s plastron.

Through ringing ears, he heard Mikey scream his name — followed by a deafening whack, and the feeling of a heavy weight landing on his legs. He opened his blurry eyes, and saw Mikey sprawled over his hips, his eyes tightly closed and a faint groan coming from his mouth.

“Leo,” Mikey moaned, “I don’t think we’re winning.”

Leo had to agree. His head was still spinning from the impact of Bebop’s punch, and his limbs were trembling as he tried to push himself off the floor. Mikey had been sent flying by Bludgeon’s tail. Raph was nearly unconscious, sprawled upside-down over Angel’s twisted body like a broken doll.

And though he couldn’t see them, Leo knew that their four enemies were closing in behind him.


	28. Clashes

Honeycutt wasn’t sure what to think about Leatherhead.

Strictly speaking, there was no real reason to distrust the mutant. He had briefly explained his background to Honeycutt as the robot prepared Donatello for the surgery. He had been native to Burnow Island, and had been mutated when canisters of ooze and mutagen had been dumped in the lagoon where he had dwelled. 

Knowing with his newly-enhanced intelligence that the substances were precious, he had hoarded them for the many years that followed. For those years, he had dwelled peacefully in the wilds of the island, he said. Now he needed to leave the island behind before the terraformed atmosphere killed him, a perfectly reasonable request.

It was just… he was a little too perfect — a little too convenient. Honeycutt had had too little ooze to heal Donatello of his wounds and replace his shell, and no way of obtaining more that did not endanger innocents. Lo and behold, a mutant had appeared with a convenient store of ooze, which he would freely share in exchange for a simple, easy favor.

The semi-conscious Donatello moaned faintly, breaking Honeycutt out of his thoughts. He quickly brushed his doubts from his conscious mind. Perhaps Leatherhead was the answer to a prayer to the Creator — a miracle of sorts. Honeycutt had been desperate to save his friend without endangering innocents — he wouldn’t be ungrateful for having his wishes answered.

“M’family,” Donatello murmured drowsily. “How are they?”

“We haven’t received any word,” Honeycutt said, giving the Turtle a comforting stroke on the head. “Don’t worry about them. The four of you saved my entire world from Krang — I have no doubt that your brothers can triumph over the Foot Clan.”

“Mmm,” Donatello responded, his eyelids fluttering. “Still… need to know…” He drifted off, much to Honeycutt’s relief. The robot quickly swabbed a patch of skin on Donatello’s arm with alcohol pads, and slipped the needle from the general anesthetic IV into his flesh. Then he watched as the lines of pain were smoothed from the young Turtle’s face. 

He was fitting the gas mask over Donatello’s mouth and nose when he heard the heavy footsteps of Leatherhead behind him. “Your friend is also a mutant, I see,” the alligator said.

“Yes — a turtle,” Honeycutt said. “He was badly injured by an enemy, and very nearly died.”

“And you want to save him, even though he is — something unnatural?” There was a peculiar tone to his voice, as if he expected Honeycutt to suddenly be repulsed by his friend.

“I only care that he is a good person,” Honeycutt said defiantly. “Donatello is one of the noblest souls it has been my privilege to meet, and he has done and sacrificed more for this planet — and for others — than most will ever know.”

“I see,” Leatherhead said. 

Honeycutt cast a look at the prosthetic shell, and picked up the canister of ooze. “You may wish to wait outside, Leatherhead. What’s coming next will not be pleasant.”

 

“We gotta — get up,” Raph grunted as he rolled off of Angel’s body. 

Mikey groaned as he tried to get up, his hands groping feebly at the floor for his fallen nunchaku. Leo looked even worse than he did, shaking his head and staggering a little as he got to his knees. And as Angel pulled her legs out from under Raph, her faceplate slid up, revealing a trickle of blood coming from her swollen nose.

Her eyes widened as she turned towards the enemy mutants — Rocksteady was directly behind Leo, raising his massive sledgehammer over Leo’s head. For a horrifying second, Angel remembered what she had found when she and Alopex had arrived at the lab — the broken, bloodstained body of a Turtle, shattered by that very hammer. Her hand flew out without conscious thought, and a blast of antigravity hammered into Rocksteady like a tidal wave.

“Whoof!” Rocksteady huffed as his hammer flew from his hands, whacking against his head with a loud thunk.

“Thanks, Angel,” Leo gasped as he got to his feet.

“No problem,” the human girl panted. “So, any bright ideas?”

“We’re not going to win if we just keep fighting the way we have been,” Leo said grimly. “Brawling isn’t the answer. We need to use our speed, our brains, and our training to determine how the fights come out, not just lashing out.” Raph grimaced, and Leo added, “And I want to punish them as much as you do, Raph, but we can’t afford to let our emotions rule us. Fight to win, not to get revenge.”

“I’ll try,” Mikey said dubiously. “But that whole they’re-bigger-and-stronger-than-us thing keeps getting in the way.”

“What are you waiting for?” Shredder’s voice lashed out. “Kill them all!”

Rocksteady clambered back to his feet as his three fellows lunged forward, snarling and screeching as the rhino joined them with his hammer. And at the same time, the Turtles sprang forth into the fight with a cry, Angel following a step behind them.

For Raph, the next few minutes were a dizzying spin of relentless attacks — he was pitted against Rocksteady again, but forced himself to focus more on dodges and targeted attacks than stabbing the rhino for what he had done. It burned at him, but he did it. Angel’s taser lashed out and struck Bludgeon in the gills on the side of his head, sending a vicious electrical shock coursing through the shark’s sensitive breathing organs. Mikey managed to land a painful hit on Bebop’s face as he soared overhead. 

And Leo was up against Koya. He knew how he could beat her, if she wasn’t as skilled in ninjutsu as he was. Hopefully she was just a predator bird made large — all claws and beak, speed and ability to fly. If she didn’t know where to look or what to look for, then he could beat her easily — and then he could help his brothers.

He sent a shuriken flying towards her face, and saw rage blaze in her eyes as she narrowly dodged it. With a screech she launched herself down towards him, her claws almost scraping at his head as he threw himself to the ground. Now — before she could turn around —

Leo gritted his teeth, and threw a smoke bomb at her neck. It snapped the bird’s head back in pain and confusion, sending her crashing to the ground in a cloud of all-obscuring gray smoke.

“You can’t hide from me!” she screeched as she got to her feet. “Tricks won’t… work…”

She looked around in confusion, seeing no trace of the Turtle who had been there mere seconds before. Her teeth ground together as she turned this way and that, looking for that telltale flash of blue signaling where that traitor was hiding himself.

“Fool!” Shredder raged. 

Mikey grinned to himself at their enemy’s obvious anger. They must be doing something right if they were making him that angry. He glanced over briefly at the figure of his father sitting in the lotus position, lost in meditation — although Mikey wasn’t sure how meditating was supposed to help in a fight. But he didn’t have time to mull it over — all their enemies were still unbeaten.

“Wanna take the ugly twins down?” Raph said, pointing his sai at Rocksteady and Bebop, who were clustered together at the center of the arena.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Mikey said. 

Raph sent a handful of kunai knives flying through the air as Mikey let some shuriken loose, aimed at one of Rocksteady’s meaty forearms. The rhino yelped in pain, even though the damage obviously wasn’t enough to seriously cripple him — but he let go of his hammer. The massive steel head fell directly onto Bebop’s foot, sending the mutant warthog reeling back, clutching his injured foot and yowling with pain.

“You know what would be great? If they did all the work and beat each other up instead of us,” Mikey said.

Raph grinned suddenly. “That ain’t a half bad idea. They’re dumb enough.”

Mikey felt his brother’s hand clamp on his shoulder, pulling him towards the middle of the arena. In no time at all, he found himself standing between Rocksteady and Bebop, their beady eyes fixed on him and Raph, their heavy fists balled in front of them. 

Suddenly nervousness welled up inside him — they were dumb, but were they that dumb? Raph’s plan was crazy and reckless, but it was also pretty obvious to anybody with six or seven brain cells…

“Get ‘em!” Rocksteady roared, and Bebop joined in with a wordless snarl as the two lunged forward.

“Jump!” Raph howled.

And Michelangelo jumped, soaring into the air above Rocksteady and Bebop like an Olympic gymnast going in for a medal-winning move. His head was thrown back, allowing him to see the two massive skulls crashing into each other like a pair of falling boulders. A delighted smile crossed his face as he and Raph somersaulted through the air, their agility and speed letting them get the upper hand in the fight. 

For once, Rocksteady and Bebop’s superior strength wasn’t enough. They might just have a chance to win this.


	29. Beaten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue in this chapter comes from the comics.

"Where did you go, little worm?" Koya screeched, circling through the arena, her eyes searching every crevice of the open space for any trace of Leonardo. He couldn't have possibly gotten away — the arena was ringed with Foot ninja who were watching the match intently. If Leonardo had tried to sneak away, he would have been met with a wall of swords.

"You know what birds do to worms, yes?" she taunted loudly.

Leo chose that moment to descend from the ceiling, a silent green shadow with his gleaming swords held above his head.

"Yeah, yeah, you eat them!" he called out, a mere second before his feet landed with a thump on Koya's back. She flailed and began to descend, his weight forcing her down.

But he wasn't finished. Leo had had enough of this screeching pest and her attempts to take down his family. And he knew the perfect way to take her out without having to actually kill her. He swept one of his katanas in a wide circle towards her massive wing, carving through the thick, stiff flight feathers that sprouted from her arms. "Careful you don't choke!" he snarled.

Koya screeched again, this time with fear and horror, and she landed on the concrete floor with an ungainly thud, Leo still crouched on her back and slashing with his swords. This was the end, he thought grimly. There would be no more threat from Koya when he was done with her.

Across the arena, one of Bludgeon's pointed fists narrowly missed Angel's head as she somersaulted out of the way. Under her armored suit, she was sweating buckets — he was nimbler and more controlled than those two dumbasses Mikey and Raph were fighting, even if he wasn't as strong. She had taken a few nasty hits from him, and despite the impact absorption of the armor, she knew she was going to have some ugly bruises to show for it. Her right knee was throbbing.

The question was, how could she get the drop on him?

She smiled as she activated the light refraction feature of her armor, shimmering away while the shark's wide-set eyes were turned away from her. She might not have the ninja skills of the three Turtles working with her, but she had her own bag of tricks.

Bludgeon's tiny black eyes blinked as he looked around himself in confusion. "Where are you?" he roared.

Angel could only do this for a brief period of time before it required too much power, so she had to make every second count. She took a flying leap towards his head, hammering her feet against his gills and sending him staggering against the wall. He roared and lashed out, but couldn't see her enough to get an idea where she was.

Angel grinned and braced her feet against the wall beside him, then fired her taser wires into his gaping mouth, with its rows of jagged teeth. He made a choking sound just as she activated them sending a vicious electrical current blazing through his body through his tongue.

"Blasted—human—" he choked as she landed in a crouch in front of him. "Where are you?"

She aimed another kick at his legs — it was weird to think of a shark having legs, but he did. They were thick and beefy in the thighs, but narrowed down sharply at the ankles. She poured all of the power in her legs into kicking at one of those ankles, sending him crashing to the floor in a cloud of dust. He was choking and raging now, his tail thrashing madly from side to side.

A faint alarm beeped inside the helmet. She was almost out of time. With a grimace, she switched off the refraction, becoming visible once again.

Just at that moment, a screeching voice howled, "No! My wings!"

Angel allowed herself to be distracted for just a moment — across the arena, that stupid bird Koya was on her back, flailing madly as Leo's swords flashed and slashed through her long feathers. She had no way of defending herself. The only way she could shield her body from the swords was with her wings — and Leo was carving up those feathers like he had been born to do it. Angel couldn't help grinning at the sight.

"Koya!" Bludgeon sputtered, struggling up from the ground.

Angel swung around as he made it back to his feet. No, she wasn't going to let him get to Leo while he took down that psycho chickadee. She flung out her arm again, aiming the antigravity gauntlet directly at Bludgeon's T-shaped head, and fired.

He slammed back against the wall, a garbled cry ringing out over the wavering sound of the gauntlet. Angel grimaced and poured every bit of effort she could into keeping the gauntlet aimed at him, feeling her feet digging into the ground as the force of the blast met something immovable, trying to push her backwards. But she kept hammering the shark, slamming his head against the wall as the concrete cracked and spiderwebbed behind him.

"Bludgeon!" Koya screeched. Angel spared a glance at the bird mutant, and was pleased to see that her feathers had been almost completely carved away — her wings were more like arms now, with only feathered stubs jutting out. Leo stepped back, his swords still held defensively in case Koya tried anything more.

Bludgeon had gone limp against the wall, and when Angel deactivated the antigravity gauntlet, he fell to the ground. Koya crawled towards him, a high-pitched sound of distress coming from her throat.

They were beaten.

 

"I can't tell — are we winning or not?" Mikey squawked as he bounced off Rocksteady's shoulder. The rhino's fist narrowly missed Raph as the Turtle darted between them, striking Bebop's face instead.

"I think so," Raph panted as Bebop struck out at Mikey, and landed a punch on Rocksteady instead.

"But it's takin' a lotta work," Mikey said.

The two Turtles danced and wove around their enemies, always dodging a fist and tricking their dense opponents into ramming and punching one another. Mikey was amazed at how well Raph's plan was working — he had figured that the two idiots would figure out how they were being played after just a few strikes, and then they'd figure out a plan of attack that didn't involve repeatedly hitting each other. They could have just gone back-to-back, and that would have easily thwarted the two Turtles.

But no, they were just as clueless as they had been that first time, and as far as Mikey could see, they weren't figuring Raph's plan out. It was actually kind of amazing. Mikey had never met anything or anyone as fundamentally, impressively, surprisingly stupid as those two thugs. He wondered just what the limits of their stupidity were.

The two Turtles landed some distance away, watching as the two other mutants turned on each other with anger sparking in their eyes.

"Quit hittin' me, pal!" Bebop shouted.

"I ain't tryin' to! 'Sides, you hit me!" Rocksteady retorted.

"Come and get us, Tweedle-dweeb and Tweedle-duh!" Raph shouted, sticking out his tongue.

Normally, Mikey would have assumed that nobody older than four would have fallen for that kind of trick. But he had learned never to underestimate Bebop and Rocksteady.

"Get 'em!" Bebop shouted.

"Dis is all their fault!" Rocksteady agreed.

The two Turtles launched themselves into the air once again as their enemies came closer, easily vaulting overhead as the warthog and rhino passed underneath them. He heard the sound of concrete shattering behind him, and the screams of the Foot ninja as the entire wall collapsed into a heap of blocks and chunks. Rocksteady and Bebop had not only run into the wall, they had broken it, and now a half-dozen Foot ninja lay groaning and half-conscious on the ground surrounding them.

For one beautiful moment, Mikey thought that maybe, just maybe, he and Raph had finally done it. Maybe they had won their half of the Gauntlet by tricking the two goons into knocking themselves out.

But then a horned gray head nosed its way out of the rubble, followed by a purple mohawk. And Mikey groaned as he realized that this was going to be a lot harder than Raph had ever dreamed.


	30. Bombs

“Those two are unbelievable,” Raph muttered as Rocksteady and Bebop crashed into each other like a pair of over-muscled freight trains.

He was starting to wonder if anything in the world could topple the two of them — ramming straight through a very thick concrete wall seemingly hadn’t even left them dazed or bruised, even with all the cracks to the head, gut and face that they had suffered. It was like they had traded in intelligence for durability, and they had started off smarter than Donnie.

Donnie. The thought of his brother ignited a new fire in Raph’s blood, overcoming the fatigue that had been creeping through his muscles for the last…. how long had it been? Half an hour? An hour? It felt like he had spent half his life in this arena, tricking idiots into punching one another.

Focus. Be smart. He couldn’t let that rage make him behave recklessly again, as much as he wanted to see how many times he had to stab Rocksteady before the rhino went down. If he were there, Donnie would be the first to tell him to use his brains instead of his biceps.

“Dude, I’m running out of gas,” Mikey said, resting his hands on his knees. 

“Too bad they’re not,” Raph grunted. He couldn’t understand how he and Mikey could be getting so tired while the Foot mutants were still full of energy. What exactly were they made of?

“Well, we’d better come up with a new plan,” said a voice from the side.

Leo and Angel were both walking towards them — Leo had sheathed his swords and looked very pleased with himself, while Angel was limping. It looked like she had hurt her knee somehow, and was favoring her other leg. Apparently the armor couldn’t protect her from everything. 

“How’d you two make out?” Raph asked, grimacing.

“Pretty well, all things considering,” Leo said.

“Well, you got lucky,” Mikey groaned. “You didn’t get the crazy unstoppable ones that keep getting up.”

“Good thing there’s four of us against them instead of just two, then,” Leo said grimly, reaching for his sword. “I’m in the mood to do some serious damage, for Donnie’s sake…”

“I have an idea,” Angel said suddenly.

“Make it snappy,” Raph said, glancing over at the pair of Foot mutants. Bebop was pulling Raphael’s sai from where it had lodged in Rocksteady’s shoulder, and Rocksteady was picking up his giant hammer once again. 

“Well, we need something more than just punches to take down those monsters, right?” Angel said. “How about bombs?”

“Those would be nice, but we ain’t got any except the smoke kind,” Raph said.

“Maybe you don’t, but I do,” Angel said. “One of the features Harold put in this suit are concussion grenades.”

“You got _grenades_ in that thing?” Raph said incredulously.

“Cool!” Mikey exclaimed.

“Why didn’t you use them before?” Leo asked incredulously.

“Because I’ve never used them before, because I don’t know how much damage they can do and whether I’d get hurt too,” Angel said, flexing her arm. “Plus, blowing stuff up isn’t really my style.”

“Well, it’s never too late to start,” Leo said, eyeing Rocksteady and Bebop. “Any other surprises in that suit that we should know about?”

“Well, there’s one really powerful bomb Harold included just one of,” Angel said thoughtfully. 

“Has it got a few nukes in the elbows?” Raph said sarcastically.

“Don’t give Harold ideas.”

Leo unsheathed his swords, and watched as Rocksteady and Bebop advanced towards them. “I’ve got an idea for what we can do with all those bombs. Mikey, you’re with me. Raph, I’ve got something special for you…”

 

A massive fist swung towards Leonardo, and he squirmed out of the way just in the nick of time. He swung his sword at Rocksteady’s arm, but the katana only bit into the thick, tough hide rather than cutting deeply into it — another way in which these behemoths seemed to be invincible. Rocksteady yelped in pain, but it was the kind of pain that came with a bruised knee or a slight scrape.

As he dodged another boulder-like fist, Leo glanced back at Mikey, who was showcasing his agility and speed by bouncing off walls and using the two massive mutants as springboards. Every time they raised a hand to grab at him, he was already gone.

But what worried Leo was that Mikey was slowing down. His little brother sometimes seemed like a bundle of boundless, crackling energy, but he had been moving much faster at the beginning of the Gauntlet than he was now. And Leo himself was feeling the strain of the fight as well — he could only run on adrenaline for so long before the tiredness streaming through him affected his ability to fight, to think. At this rate, he wasn’t sure how much good he’d be to his father during a final battle with Shredder.

He jabbed one of his katana into Bebop’s shoulder, as deeply as he could, and was rewarded with another teeth-rattling punch to the jaw. It made him stumble backwards, and he narrowly dodged another strike from the warthog, mainly because the other mutant had no formal fight training and telegraphed his moves well in advance. It was easier to dodge when the other person’s attacks were already known.

He just hoped that Raph didn’t see Rocksteady and Bebop getting any hits in. His plan would only work if Raph stayed where he was — at a distance, behind Rocksteady and Bebop. If he got overworked and charged in to save his brothers, the entire plan would fall apart. 

One of Bebop’s fists landed a glancing blow against Leo’s stomach, sending him crashing backwards. It wasn’t the most painful blow he had suffered from them — he was still conscious, for one thing — but it was still pretty unpleasant. He landed in a crouch, ready to spring back into the fight.

“Leo!” Raph bellowed.

“Don’t help me!” Leo shouted back. In case Bebop’s attention turned to his brother, he lunged forward and slashed with both katanas at the warthog’s face. He missed — only by centimeters, but it was enough for his foe to bellow at him and swing another rocklike fist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a slender purple-armored figure moving stealthily towards him. Angel was still limping badly, but she braced herself and raised one of her arms.

“Now, Leo!” she shouted.

“Mikey!” Leo called out, leaping backwards with all the speed he could muster. Mikey sprang off Rocksteady’s shoulder like a speed swimmer, twisting effortlessly through the air, somersaulting halfway across the arena and landing at his brother’s side. 

The two Foot mutants grinned at them, evidently pleased that their enemies were in retreat. “Guess they finally got smart,” Bebop said, punching one fist into his hand. “Stay still so we can pound ya fast, Turt—“

Something small and dark struck the side of his head, knocking him sideways and almost cracking off one of his tusks. Rocksteady yelped in surprise as another one bounced off his horns, spinning over his head and nearly striking him between the eyes. 

“Fire in the hole!” Angel shouted.

Leo turned his shell towards the two mutants, and huddled down alongside Mikey as the fired grenades went off. The arena was filled with a deafening blast that nearly knocked them off their feet, and Leo felt a hot rush blast over his carapace. A moment later he dared to look back, praying that the two would be down and out, and the rest of their plan wouldn’t be necessary.

But no, the two were still standing — though admittedly they looked wobblier than they had before, and their clothes looked rather more tattered and blackened by smoke. Rocksteady’s tiny eyes slowly made their way to Leo, only for them to blaze with anger as his tiny brain connected the grenades with the Turtles trying to evade him. 

“Remember, Mike,” Leo said, backing up. “Back only, not to the sides.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Mikey said, following his example. 

Another grenade arced across the arena, and Bebop caught it in one meaty fist. “Got it!” he said, grinning. “You Turtles can’t-“

It exploded before he could finish, blasting the mutant warthog off his feet and sending him flying back to the ground. Leo’s eyes widened as Rocksteady turned around to drag his friend back to his feet, and at any moment he expected the rhino to see Raphael lurking back behind them. But if Rocksteady noticed Raphael in the smoke and chaos, he gave no sign of it — and before the air could clear, another grenade went skittering past their feet.

Leo’s heart rose in his throat with every grenade that was launched — he didn’t know how many Angel had, but she couldn’t possibly have that many. If they didn’t get the plan underway—

He clanged his swords together over his head, redirecting the two mutants’ attention back towards him. Just then, two more explosions went off around them, causing the two to shield their faces and roar in dismay, and a ripple of displeasure went through the assembled Foot ninja.

And just then, Leo saw him — Raphael, launching himself through the air like a gymnast in flight, his face set in a snarl as he vaulted over the shoulders of his two enemies. Unlike in most fights, he was almost completely silent, although Leo had the feeling that he wanted desperately to taunt Rocksteady and Bebop as he did his part in bringing them down. In one hand was a blinking grayish device that he smoothly slapped onto the back of Rocksteady’s shoulder, before landing in a crouch in front of his brothers.

“Huh? What?” Rocksteady said, looking down at Raph. “What’s that Turtle doin’?”

“Run!” Leo called. 

He turned and ran with every ounce of speed he could muster, his feet digging into the sandy floor. Raph and Mikey were moving just as swiftly at his side, their eyes wide and their faces seized with fear — they had to get as far away from Rocksteady and Bebop before the big bomb went off —

And then the explosion hit, throwing them forward against the concrete wall.


	31. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shredder's last line is from the comics. I couldn't really paraphrase it any better.

Leonardo barely had time to register the explosion before he was being hammered into the wall plastron-first, his breath rushing out of his lungs. He heard Mikey yelp and Raph groan as they landed right beside him, pressed against the concrete like pinned moths, a painful pressure on their shells as the shockwave pushed them into the wall.

For a moment, Leonardo had to simply bear the pain, especially as bits of concrete pelted the back of his head, arms, legs, and rattled off his shell. Each one stung like a hornet, and the larger ones felt like cannonballs fired into his limbs and back. As the explosion faded, he dared to look back over his shoulder at the massive cloud of smoke that had filled the arena.

This was it. Their last chance. If this massive explosive didn't take out Rocksteady and Bebop, they were out of options for realistically taking out the pair of behemoths. Leo's heart was thudding wildly against his ribs as he tried to see what had happened — tried to make out the massive shapes of his enemies. Please, he thought desperately, please let them be down…

Then one of the shapes moved, and Leo felt as though someone had punched him in the stomach. They weren't unconscious, and Clan Hamato was all out of bombs.

"Oh, come on," Mikey groaned. Raph just wheezed feebly.

But as the dust and smoke cleared, Leo felt his spirits rise a little. He could see the massive shapes of Rocksteady and Bebop, but they were sprawled on the ground, their heads down and their limbs moving sluggishly. They weren't unconscious, but they were almost there. Leo bent down and swiftly snatched up his swords in trembling hands, and lunged toward the nearest enemy mutant.

Raph had apparently had the same thought, because he was charging at the other mutant, his face contorted by rage. _"This is for Donnie!"_ he bellowed, leaping at Bebop's head with his sai raised.

Normally Leo would have tried to pull Raph back before he hurt somebody — possibly himself — but right now he didn't dare. Instead, he threw his entire body into attacking Rocksteady's head — every sinew, every ounce of weight, everything that he could use to take down his enemy. He raised his aching arms over his head, his swords gripped tightly in his fingers, and brought them down with all of his remaining strength.

It was like flinging himself into a boulder. He saw Rocksteady's dull eyes gleam just for a second before the swords struck his skull with a loud thunk. The impact sent a painful jolt through Leo's skeleton, and for a moment he felt his hands go numb. Rocksteady's massive head fell to the ground with a low groan, and he gave one last shudder before falling still.

Leo staggered back, his arms trembling as he waited for Rocksteady to rise — and some part of him expected it to happen. This monster was nearly unstoppable, and Leo had seen in person how hard it was to make him pause. But the seconds ticked by, and the rhino remained a still lump of leathery hide, horn and rocklike muscle. Unconscious. Finally.

Finally Leo looked over to where Bebop was lying, just as motionless as Rocksteady. Raph was standing over him, his chest heaving with barely-restrained rage, his eyes gleaming brightly enough to be seen through the cloud of dust and smoke. Mikey was creeping closer to his red-masked brother, saying, "Okay, Raph… it's over. They're both out. Time to calm down, buddy."

"Shut up, Mikey," Raph growled.

Leo swiftly sheathed his swords, and slowly moved through the dust and smoke, looking for some sign of purple armor. "Angel?" he called out, coughing slightly. "Are you there?"

"Yes," a faint voice said. Something encrusted in dust moved against the wall, . "Wow, I think I blacked out for a minute there."

"Are you okay?" Leo said, stumbling towards her.

A loud cough. "I think so. My knee's still all screwed up."

He pulled her outstretched arm across his shoulders, allowing the taller woman to lean on him as they walked back to Mikey and Raph. Her suit was too dirty for Leo to see it very clearly, but he hoped that it had taken most of the damage instead of Angel. Her nose was bleeding again, and she had the beginnings of a black eye swelling on the left side of her face. Leo found himself wondering if he looked much better after being hammered into the side of the arena, but vanity would have to wait until later.

Most of the cloud had dissipated now, allowing him to see the Foot forces on every side of them — walls of lower-level ninja and Elite watching anxiously to see who had triumphed, and remaining silent when they saw that Bebop and Rocksteady were both unconscious. At the far end of the arena, Leo could see the spiky, imposing figure of the Shredder, who had seen the entire fight. His face was hidden by his mask, but Leo thought he could see fury in the ninja lord's piercing black eyes. Fury that his minions had failed him, and fury that his enemy's children had triumphed.

Karai stepped forward, her face sour as she raised a hand. "Clan Hamato is the victor," she announced.

Angel raised a fist over her head. "You got that right," she said grimly.

"I'm beat," Mikey said piteously.

"Don't say that just yet," Leo said, releasing Angel's arm. "We aren't done."

He saw his baby brother's eyes widen as he remembered that the battle against the enemy mutants had only been the first half of the Gauntlet. Then Mikey slumped forward slightly, letting out a loud moan. "Man, this is never gonna end," he said.

Leo was worried about the exact opposite. Mikey was openly exhausted, Raph was hunched over and resting his hands on his knees, Angel was injured, and Leo could feel his own bruised body lagging. Shredder was coming into the next fight fresh, while Clan Hamato was battered and exhausted. And though Master Splinter had said that none needed to die except himself or Saki, Leonardo knew that Saki would gladly and immediately kill any one of them just for the pain that it would cause their father.

"You should stand down from the next fight," he muttered to Angel.

"You can't get rid of me that easy," she said, crossing her arms.

"Your knee is hurt. You can't fight Shredder like this — he'll kill you."

"He's trying to kill you," Angel argued.

"But he doesn't have any kind of grudge against you, Angel. He does against us. You can walk away from this."

"I think taking down Jaws back there might have gotten me on his bad side," Angel said grimly. "Plus helping you guys. Dropping out now won't necessarily keep me out of danger."

She was right, and Leo hated it. He sighed and let his shoulders slump, feeling a few more concrete fragments sift down the sides of his shell. "Fine. But please, pull out if anything more happens to your knee. Your suit is running out of tricks to pull."

"I'll consider it," Angel said, smiling crookedly. She wiped a trickle of blood from her left nostril.

The dust and smoke had mostly settled now, leaving a thick gray crust on each one of the combatants — Rocksteady and Bebop looked like small stony mountains in the middle of the arena. Leo brushed his arms off as best he could, but he knew he would need to bathe himself extensively later on. He would probably need Raph and Mikey to help him get all the bits of grit out from under the rim of his shell and the edges of his plastron, and he in turn would need to help them.

He looked up as a bowed, robed figure appeared on the edge of the arena. In all the turmoil, he had almost forgotten that his father was there, waiting for them to win the first half of the battle. Their victory had given him a distinct advantage when he went up against Shredder.

Then Leo stiffened as he heard slow, deliberate footsteps approaching from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw the glinting helmet and spikes before Shredder himself came into view, his black eyes gleaming like obsidian.

"Well, Hamato Yoshi," he rumbled, "it seems that your sons have emerged victorious." His eyes roamed over their faces. "Three of them."

Leo saw what Raph was about to do a split second before he moved, and threw an arm in front of his enraged brother before Raph could move more than a few inches.

"Let me go, Leo," he said through gritted teeth, clutching his sai.

"You'll have the chance to fight him soon enough, Raph," Leo responded quietly. "Not yet."

Raph ground his teeth. The feverish glint in his eyes promised that he wasn't going to be able to control himself much longer. But then again, that might be a good thing — anger could give them all a second wind, Leo reflected, as long as they didn't let it carry them away.

Shredder seemed pleased by Raph's rage as he turned back to Splinter. He had probably done it on purpose, Leo realized, trying to throw them off-balance by reminding them of Donnie. Donnie… Leo wished he knew what was happening with his brother now. Somehow it might be easier to fight if they knew he was all right.

"As we are the ones who issued the challenge," Splinter said quietly, "you have the right to choose the location of our final conflict, Oroku Saki."

"The rooftop," Shredder responded coldly. "Since you enjoy spending so much precious time in your head wandering through the cosmos, why not let the heavens be witness to your doom?"


	32. Rooftop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Groan, more action. Thank God it's almost over. This part of the fic has been the hardest for me to write.

The night air was cold, and the wind blowing fiercely across the rooftop of the Foot’s headquarters made it even colder still. Leo squinted against the wind at the dark, spiky figure opposite him, lit by the lights from the floors below them. Shredder had come to kill their father, and Leo was determined not to let that happen. He wasn’t going to lose a member of their family ever again. 

He glanced over at Splinter, who was sitting in the lotus position at one end of the rooftop. His only movement was almost imperceptible breathing, as he continued his meditation on how he could defeat the man who had killed him a lifetime and many centuries ago. They had to fight Saki long enough to give him time — time to figure it out, to come up with a strategy. Beyond him were other figures — Kitsune, here to watch her “beloved,” Karai standing rigidly at attention like a soldier, and an anxious Alopex here to watch her friends in their fight.

“Let’s minimize one-on-one attacks if we can,” Leo said in a low voice. “He’s more skilled than we are, but he’s only one man. If we swamp him, he won’t be able to block all of us. For Father!”

“For Donnie,” Raph said fiercely. Shredder’s taunts about their presumed-dead brother were clearly still fresh in his mind.

“And for Donnie,” Leo amended, holding out his hand. Raph and Mikey joined their hands to his, and after a second Angel joined them.

As he turned to face Shredder, Leo felt a chill. He had been close to death before in his short life, but never so completely. Everything was on the line this night, for both sides — Saki was fighting to survive just as Splinter was, and thus he would be even more motivated than before to triumph over his enemies. And for pure spite, he would kill the Turtles if he could, knowing that their father’s heart would be broken by the loss of even one of them. Executing his sons a lifetime ago had not just been murder; it had been an attempt to break the man before killing him.

He unsheathed his swords and waited for Shredder’s first move, and the faint clinks of sai and nunchaku behind him told him that his brothers were doing likewise. “Angel, how much power is left in that gauntlet?” he murmured.

“Maybe five minutes’ worth.”

Leo grimaced. Five minutes was plenty of time in a fight, but what really concerned him was that he or his brothers would be caught in its blast. They would just have to trust in Angel’s agility and aim, and do their best against Shredder. 

The Foot Clan jonin made the first move — a sharp strike towards Leo’s head, which the Turtle easily dodged. He had the feeling that Shredder had made it easy to dodge on purpose, in order to draw Leo into the fight first. At the same time, Mikey somersaulted past him, his nunchaku smashing towards Shredder’s gleaming steel helmet. At the last minute, the ninja lord grasped the nunchaku and twisted it forward, throwing Mikey to the ground. Mikey recovered quickly, rolling and bouncing up to his feet with his weapons already spinning in his hands.

With his enemy’s attention on his brother, Leo lunged forward, slashing his right sword at Shredder’s throat. But his blade suddenly lodged itself in the gauntlet on Shredder’s right arm, immobilizing him by twisting it between the blades — and as he pulled it loose with a scrape of metal, a foot suddenly hammered into his plastron and sent him staggering backwards.

“You are foolish,” Shredder said in a low voice. “Greatness could have been yours, Leonardo, if you had the courage to seize it. Instead, you failed me, and scurried back to the rodent who will slumber through your death, like a coward.”

Leo regained his balance, and forced himself to remain steady and composed in the face of Shredder’s taunts. He didn’t care that Saki had called him a coward — the man’s good opinion was completely undesirable. If loyalty to his family was cowardice, than Leo would wear that insult with pride. What stirred his blood was the implied slur against his father, who was still meditating at the far end of the roof — still searching for a way to defeat the man who had killed them all in a past life.

Just then, Raph came leaping in, his sai pointed straight at the back of Shredder’s neck. The ancient ninja sensed him coming, and swung around to block the killing blow before Raph could drive them home. Raph was sent skidding backwards, snarling as his feet dug into the rooftop.

“You, though, have something in you,” Shredder said, with a new, almost admiring tone in his voice. “You have your father’s fire, the burning rage that drove him in his youth.”

It was impossible to deny — Raph’s face was twisted with fury, and his eyes were burning even in the dim light. He was letting his anger fuel him in this fight, and Leo prayed that it didn’t make him sloppy or careless. The red-masked Turtle lunged forward again, his sai clashing with Shredder’s spiky gauntlets, steel twisting against steel as the two strained against each other.

“When Hamato Yoshi is only a memory,” Shredder said in a low voice, “your fire will serve me well as part of the Foot Clan!”

“I ain’t interested!” Raph snarled, lashing out with one of his sai. 

A twist of Shredder’s arm sent the weapon flipping into the air, where he caught it effortlessly by the tip. “A shame,” he said casually. “My offer was true, Raphael. I promise you, you will regret rejecting it.”

Leo realized what he was about to do a split second before it did it — a sharp forward arc of Shredder’s hand, and the gleam of the sai as it flew through the air like a silver bird. It buried itself in the muscled green flesh of Raph’s thigh, and a spurt of crimson blood splattered the ground. Leo’s heart almost stopped at the sight — if Shredder had hit an artery, Raph might be as good as dead.

“Dammit!” Raph roared, crashing back on his carapace.

“Raph!” Alopex shouted.

Leo wanted desperately to rush to his brother’s side, and make sure the wound wasn’t serious. Raph was rolling onto his side, clutching at the wound in his leg, blood trickling between his fingers. With a loud grunt, he pulled the sai from his thigh, the gleaming steel now stained with crimson. More blood seeped from him now that his weapon had been removed, and it streamed down his leg as he struggled back to his feet. His face was locked in a snarl, and his eyes were blazing like coals.

“Raph, stand down!” Leo shouted.

Raph didn’t even acknowledge that his brother had spoken. With a bellow, he charged toward Shredder, brandishing a weapon still dripping with his own blood. Leo switched tactics, also flinging himself towards Shredder with his katanas at the ready — maybe he would be able to distract Shredder from Raph long enough for his brother to get in a hit, rather than being struck down because of blood loss…

But then a blur of green and orange spun by, smashing his nunchaku against Shredder’s neck. The jonin raised an arm defensively, deflecting the blow with the bladed armor on his forearm, and then caught the nunchaku with a twist of his hand. He yanked Mikey forward rather than swatting him away, and Leo saw the gleam of his blades as he prepared to stab them forward into the smaller turtle’s face.

“No!” Leo howled, throwing himself at Shredder.

He didn’t have any particular plan in mind, only the feverish desire to protect his baby brother. His katana slashed downwards towards Shredder’s elbow joint, about to cut through flesh and bone without hesitation. If he could do this — just get through Shredder’s defenses —

But Shredder’s head suddenly turned toward him, and his free hand twisted around to catch the katana blade in mid-air. The Turtle thought he saw triumph flash in the human’s eyes as he pushed the sword back towards Leo’s face. And a moment later, Leo understood why — Shredder’s other arm swung around in a wide arm, pulling Mikey with it. Leo barely had time to swing his swords out of the way before Mikey slammed into him like a wrecking ball, throwing him off his feet and onto his shell with a loud scraping sound. Mikey’s head thudded against the rooftop, and he flopped on top of Leo with a groan.

Leo’s head was spinning, and blood was pounding in his ears as he struggled to get out from under his brother. “Gotta get — dammit!” he muttered as he tried to push Mikey’s knee away from his face.

“Sorry, Leo,” Mikey gasped.

A purple-black shape darted past them, her feet light on the rooftop. The problem was, Leo could tell that Angel was favoring her uninjured leg, and he knew Shredder could tell that too. As soon as she was close enough, Shredder would attack her injured knee and bring her down. Desperately, he seized the edge of Mikey’s shell and pushed with all his strength, rolling his dazed brother off and allowing him to stagger back to his feet.

But Angel stopped short, and raised her arm towards Shredder. “Eat this!” she shouted.

Shredder dodged with only an instant to spare. The antigravity blast hammered where he had been a second before, rippling through the air with the force of an explosion. Before she could change the direction of the gauntlet, Shredder swept towards her at a low angle, his eyes glinting as he caught her arm and forced it up. Steel flashed through the air as he stabbed his hand up towards her —

“Angel!” Leo said, rushing toward her.

Angel tore her arm loose, and automatically threw it in front of her face to shield it from the blow. The blades slashed deep into the gauntlet, ripping ragged gashes into the metal, and blue sparks of electricity arced from inside it. Angel stumbled backward as Leo lunged toward her, and for a moment he thought she was going to regain her balance and strike out at Shredder again. Even without the gauntlet, she was still fast and agile, and the armor gave her an edge.

Then Shredder’s leg lashed out, striking Angel’s knee with a loud crack.

She shrieked at that, clutching at her leg as she fell to the ground. Leo darted between them as fast as he could, striking out at Shredder with all of his strength. His muscles were burning and his head ached with fatigue, but he couldn’t let Shredder do this. Mikey was dazed and struggling to stand up — Raph was bleeding badly — Angel couldn’t stand — Leo was the only one who could still fight, no matter how tired and worn he was. He had to keep them away from his family and friend.

Shredder’s face twisted into a snarl under his mask. His fist seemed to come out of nowhere as it struck Leo’s chin, snapping his head back. Dazed, Leo struck at Shredder’s abdomen, only for his sword to be trapped again by the bladed gauntlets. He grunted faintly, throwing every ounce of strength he had into pushing back — he could hear the metal scraping as Shredder began twisting his sword from his hands — and then the sword was sent spinning across the ground.

And then a quiet voice spoke from across the rooftop.

“Saki.”


	33. Triumph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A large portion of the dialogue in this chapter is from the comics.

Splinter rose from where he had been sitting, like a tree growing towards the sky. His shabby kimono rustled gently in the cold wind, and the fur on his face was ruffled. His keen black eyes stared across the rooftop, as if in challenge to Oroku Saki’s presence.

“So you have finally awoken,” Saki said, his attention entirely diverted from Leo.

“Yes,” Splinter said placidly. “I have, in more ways than one.”

Leo seized Angel’s elbow and heaved her up onto her feet, feeling her clutch at his shoulder to keep from falling over. She half-hopped, half-walked alongside him, grunting with pain at every stab of pain in her knee. Leo wrapped his arm around her waist, letting her lean on him as much as she needed to — after what she had done for his family, she deserved it and more.

She slid down to the floor on the edge of the rooftop fighting space, clutching at her knee. Alopex rushed forward, apparently no longer caring about the need not to interfere with the fight. “Angel!” she cried.

“I think I’m done,” Angel said through gritted teeth. “Both the suit and me are beat.”

Leo waited until Alopex was tending to her wounded friend before turning and heading back towards Raph and Mikey. The two of them were standing together near the edge, with Raph half-slumped against Mikey, his body shaking a little from pain and blood loss. The dark liquid stained his injured leg, and the hands he had used to try to staunch it.

Leo knelt down and began stripping the athletic wraps from Raph’s uninjured leg, unwinding them from his ankle. Raph was breathing hard, and he tensed and groaned as Leo’s actions forced him to briefly put his weight on his bloodied leg.

“Just hold still,” Leo muttered, winding the wrap around the wounded part of Raph’s thigh. It wasn’t particularly sanitary — after all, the makeshift bandage had sweat and dirt on it — but it would be enough to stop the bleeding, so it would have to suffice until they could get Raph back home. It was fortunate, he reflected, that the actual wound was so small, and that it was already clotting over.

But as his hands twisted the bandage around the wound and tied it off, Leo’s senses were attuned to something else — the clash of steel against steel, of Shredder’s blades against one of Raph’s sai. Their father had snatched up the fallen weapon and was now fighting with it, deflecting the blows as quickly as they came. Shredder was focused on the fight in a way he hadn’t been when battling Angel and the Turtles — his eyes blazed with hatred and his movements were faster, more precise.

And Splinter was speaking as he fought, in low, penetrating tones. "While you battled my brave sons, I meditated on our history together, Saki, looking for any frailties you may have—weaknesses I could exploit in the battle to come.” The sai caught and pushed back the blades, trembling slightly in Splinter’s hand. “At first all I saw, as I traveled step-by-step through our shared past, was your innate and undeniable power. But then I recalled something Master Masato told us when we were boys—about how our most primal impulses can be either boon or bane. It was, he said, all a matter of understanding why we possessed them... And, then, how best to channel them.”

A sudden blow from Shredder sent the sai sailing through the air, until it fell point-first into the rooftop, embedded in the floor. Leo heard a gasp come from Mikey at seeing their father disarmed, and he knew how Mikey felt — this battle to the death could turn in an instant, and the loss of a weapon in the face of Shredder’s armor was a blow against Splinter.

But though he had been disarmed, Splinter did not stop speaking. "For me, it was an unpredictable rage that festered inside, always ready to erupt and unleash wrath against those I felt had caused me pain. But I learned over time my fury was simply misguided self-protection and allowing it to flow unabated caused more harm to myself than any of my enemies. It wasn't until I learned to control it, as Master Masato had encouraged many times, that I finally knew true peace… and true strength."

Shredder’s voice rose more fiercely above the wail of the wind. "Whatever strength you possessed vanished the moment you extinguished the rage-fire burning inside of you, rat.”

"You misunderstand, Saki. I never said I put out the fire. I said I know how to control it now. When to subdue it… and when to unleash it!”

Suddenly Mikey’s nunchaku was in Splinter’s hand, and he was attacking, driving Saki back — the weapon crashing into the steel helmet. His eyes glinted with a ferocity that Leo barely recognized — he had seen glimpses of it when his father had spoken of the necessity of killing his ancient enemy, but he had never seen it in full. Not until now.

But Shredder’s arm swung around, knocking the mutant rat backwards. "There are two paths, Yoshi—one for the meek, one for the powerful,” the jonin snarled, his voice rough with hate. "We must all choose which to follow. Unlike you, I chose greatness."

"You are wrong—there are many paths to choose from. As for me…" Splinter lashed out with the nunchaku. "I chose duty! I chos—!”

The blades caught in the chain of the nunchaku, yanking Splinter forward. Leo felt his heart skip a beat as Shredder lashed out once again, his fist crashing into the mutant rat’s chest. Every muscle and sinew of his body was screaming to lunge forward into the fight and defend his father against the monster who threatened them all — but he knew he couldn’t. This fight was for Splinter and Shredder alone.

"You chose pain, fool! Suffering! And death!” Shredder snarled.

Splinter was crumpled on the floor, his hands pressed against the rooftop platform. Then his hands went to something gleaming nearby — Leo’s own katana, left there from his own fight with Shredder. As he gripped it, Splinter raised his head, and Leo thought he saw silent thanks pass through his father’s eyes before he turned around.

"Death awaits us all. In that, we have no choice,” he said in a measured voice. "And yet, you speak of it as a fate belonging solely to others. It is true — you are very powerful, Saki. But I understand now it is a power that chose you, and not you it. A power that deludes you into believing you cannot be defeated. Cannot be destroyed. But you are wrong."

Shredder snarled again, his black eyes burning with anger as he stared down the rat before him.

"Unlike you, death is a thing I have come to respect and, I am unashamed to admit — for the safety of my children — to fear,”   
Splinter said quietly, his voice carried on the wind. He began to move forward with sure, steady steps. ”But in your blind confidence, you have forgotten, Oroku Saki —“

And suddenly he was leaping forward, slicing through the air almost faster than the eye could see. Leo’s katana was a streak of silver in his hand, arcing outwards towards Shredder’s chest.

"I have never feared you!” he shouted.

And suddenly, the entire world seemed to be different, so quickly that Leo’s mind barely had time to adjust. His father was solemnly looking over his shoulder, the blood-spattered katana clutched in his hand. And Shredder… Leo felt like he could barely breathe as he saw what had happened to their enemy. Shredder was stumbling to his knees, a massive bloodied gash slashing across the front of his body. 

His breath had become a series of pained groans and grunts. “How — how could —“ he gasped.

Leo barely heard the words that followed — he caught snatches of them, as the two men spoke of brotherhood, of a forest, of their shared past back in ancient Japan. It was a strange conversation, one that sounded almost fond, wistful and sad. It didn’t sound like the interactions of two men dedicated to killing one another.

But mostly, Leo was in shock. His father had won. Saki was mortally wounded, and their family was free of the Foot Clan’s ever-increasing quest for revenge. They had won the Gauntlet once and for all — they were battered and bloodied, and some of them would need medical attention, but they had beaten the odds and come out the victors. 

“Did we just win?” Angel said dazedly, as if she hadn’t really expected it.

“I think we did,” Raph said, sounding just as dazed.

Mikey just stared blankly at his father, as if unable to reconcile his gentle, loving father with the deadly wound inflicted on Shredder.

Then suddenly Saki gripped the sides of his shirt and tore it down the middle, revealing the terrible gash in the middle of his chest. For a moment, Leo didn’t understand why he had done that. He would have expected Shredder to use his energy trying to preserve his own life, to surviving despite the terrible wound he had sustained.

Then his father raised the katana, standing behind Saki. And Leo understood.

He swiftly looked at his brothers to see if they understood as he did what their father was about to do. Raph was breathing hard and staring intently, clearly not willing to let down his guard until Shredder was completely, irrevocably dead. And Mikey was still in shock, his wide brown eyes wider than usual, his usually chattering mouth silent. Neither one of them seemed to realize what was happening before them.

Shredder turned towards Karai. "Granddaughter, hear me now. You are my finest soldier. If I have ever been harsh on you, it was from pride in your indomitable strength and loyalty.”

Karai looked shattered, and for the first time, Leo felt pity for her. She had been truly loyal to Shredder, and even seemed to have loved him. Then Shredder turned to Kitsune and spoke in Japanese, and Leo found himself wishing he had Mikey’s ability to understand that language. He was almost tempted to ask his baby brother what Shredder and Kitsune were saying to one another, but he could tell from Mikey’s vacant stare that he was in no fit state to eavesdrop.

Then Shredder seized his gauntlet, and plunged the blades into his stomach. Leo jolted and took a step backwards, hearing a gasp of shock and horror pass through his brothers, Angel and Alopex. They had known all along that one way or another, it would end with death. But somehow seeing it unfold was completely different.

Then Splinter swung the katana again, slicing through Shredder’s neck cleanly and swiftly. A spray of blood arced over the platform, like a sprinkling of rain in the summer — a head thudded down — and a body slowly slumped. And then there was only silence.


	34. Unwilling

Mikey felt as though he was going to throw up. He had managed to keep it together throughout the endless fight with Rocksteady and Bebop, and even though the fight with the Shredder. But now he could feel himself unraveling, as his father came toward them with Leo’s katana in his hand, still dripping with Shredder’s blood.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

He had known that eventually this would happen. His father had begun planning to kill Shredder months before, knowing that Shredder would settle for nothing less than the deaths of his nemesis and his entire family. Mikey had known of his father’s plans, but had dreaded the idea of putting them into play — he didn’t want to kill anyone, no matter how evil they were. He didn’t want his family tainted by that. He had struggled with the idea for a long time, and eventually decided that if they worked hard and kept fighting, things would turn out all right.

He shouldn’t have been surprised by what had happened. Splinter had never pretended that he wasn’t going to kill his ancient enemy. But now a corpse lay on the rooftop, in a spreading puddle of blood. And though Michelangelo had seen the sword slice through Shredder’s neck, he somehow couldn’t believe it had happened.

Dazed, he looked back at his brothers. Leo’s face was devoid of expression — it was like he hadn’t seen anything at all, and Mikey found himself wishing he could be that distant. Raph was staring wide-eyed at Shredder’s corpse, the pain of his injured leg seemingly forgotten. He was sprawled on the rooftop, with Alopex trying to prop both him and Angel up.

Splinter came towards his sons gravely, wiping the blade of the katana on the sleeve of his kimono. “Leonardo,” he said, holding it out to his eldest son. Leo took the sword and sheathed it.

Then he turned to Raph. “Raphael, how is your wound?” he said, concerned by the dark stains on Raph’s leg.

“I’ll live, sensei,” Raph grunted, straining to rise to his feet. “It looks worse than it is.”

Mikey wasn’t so sure about that. Raph wasn’t one to let injuries knock him out of a fight, and he had bled an awful lot. The athletic wrap Leo had tied around Raph’s thigh was already starting to spot with more blood.

He turned back towards Shredder’s body, and felt his stomach churning. He had never seen someone without a head before, and the longer he looked at it, the sicker he felt. The blood under Shredder’s body glimmered like a little black lake, reflecting the stars up above them. And he was dead because of Mikey’s father… he had swung that sword, and sent the head rolling away…

“Mikey?” Leo’s voice said. “Are you okay?”

“This can’t be real,” Mikey mumbled. “Father couldn’t have…”

“I know,” Leo said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know, Mikey. We’ll talk about it — later. When we’re home.”

“Home — we don’t have a home,” Mikey said, looking at Leo with pleading eyes. “Stockman wrecked it, and now we’re stuck on top of the Foot Clan’s building. What are we gonna do, Leo? Where are we gonna go?” His voice was starting to rise and crack.

Leo started to answer, but just then Karai strode towards Splinter, her back ramrod straight and her eyes glittering like chips of obsidian. Mikey stiffened, and his hands went to his nunchaku. Karai was as mean as a viper that someone had stepped on, and Mikey didn’t trust her anywhere near his father. He knew the end of the Gauntlet was supposed to signal the end of the feud between their clans, but Karai had been obsessively, fiercely loyal to Shredder. If she was mad enough, she might decide to ignore that and try to kill them the way Oroku Saki had…

Leo seemed to have had the same thought. His katanas were already unsheathed and held up before him, as he slid between Karai and his father. “No closer, Karai. Or you’ll answer to me.”

Karai slowed down, her expression not changing. “I simply wish to speak to your father, Leonardo, nothing more.”

Splinter placed a hand on Leo’s outstretched arm, lowering one of his swords. “Let her speak, Leonardo,” he said quietly. As Karai moved a few steps closer, Splinter turned towards her, his black eyes narrowing. “Am I to expect that you will adhere to the results of the Gauntlet, and hunt us no more?”

“I will do that, and more,” Karai said, her voice shaking a little. “I — wished to make you an offer. I was the one who revived the Foot Clan in the modern age, returning it to its old glory after years of degeneration and greed. I believed that strong leadership would allow the clan to flower to its full potential, and so I gladly gave it over to my grandfather upon his resurrection. Everything I did, I did for the Foot.”

She bowed her head slightly, and her blunt-cut black hair fell slightly over her face. “Now that he is dead, as his chunin, I should be the one who takes command as the new jonin. But I find I — I cannot.” She looked back at Splinter, with those glints returning to her eyes. “I have seen true leadership this night. True courage and strength. And I know that those things are necessary in a good jonin… and that I do not have them. Not yet.” 

She drew her katana slowly, and Mikey saw every muscle in Leo’s body tense up all at once. Splinter did not move, though, and his impassive face betrayed no hint of nervousness at having the sword of his enemy so close to him.

Karai looked down, her face mirrored in the silvery blade. “Before I can truly lead anyone — anything — I must have these qualities in myself. And so I will leave New York, and find them in the birthplace of the Foot.” She raised her chin. “I will return to Japan.”

She knelt swiftly and smoothly, the katana resting horizontally across her outstretched palms. Her hands stopped only a few inches from Splinter, as her head bowed toward him. “And the Foot Clan will need a new jonin. I offer you my sword, and the throne of the Foot’s leader.”

Silence settled over the rooftop.

Mikey almost let out a hysterical giggle at the thought. He didn’t know what Karai was thinking — they had just spent months fighting the Foot, almost dying every time the enemy cornered them. The claw-handed Foot Assassins who had hunted them down in Northampton. The swarms of ninja who had tried to slice them apart. That slimy fox Kitsune and her insidious spells, turning Leo against his family. Bebop and Rocksteady, who had almost killed Donnie and had tried to kill the rest of them.

No, the Foot Clan was rotten to the core, as far as Mikey was concerned. Every person in it had tried to murder them for some stupid feud that had started centuries ago, and every person in it had been loyal to the Shredder. What made Karai think that they wanted anything to do with her clan, let alone that Splinter would lead it?

“I accept.”

Quiet as they were, the two words rang out through the air like twin explosions. And for a moment, Mikey barely registered that they had been said. He knew that sounds had been made, but the fact that they were words with meaning had temporarily fled from his mind. But then they settled into his brain like falling scraps of silk, and something stark and terrified began to expand inside him.

This couldn’t be. His father couldn’t possibly — he wasn’t going to — after all, the Foot were their enemies — cruel, callous, murderous enemies — being in charge of them would be like becoming the Shredder — 

Mikey’s knees were suddenly wobbling dangerously, and he felt a spasmodic tremor pass through his body. If there had been any furniture on this rooftop, he would have grabbed at it to keep from collapsing. His eyes couldn’t look away as Splinter took the katana from Karai’s hands, and surveyed the human with calm, detached eyes.

“If I have your permission,” Karai said, bowing, “I will leave immediately, once I have informed the genin of our change in leadership, and bring with me some of the Foot’s more — unique followers.”

“You have my permission,” Splinter said. “Except for Kitsune.” His gaze swept towards the elegantly-dressed woman waiting far from them. “I wish to keep her under strict observation.”

If this stipulation bothered Karai, she gave no sign of it. She straightened from her bow, turned around, and was gone back into the building. The Foot ninja lurking around the edges of the rooftop slowly clustered closer, keeping their distance from the rat mutant and his turtle children. Raph growled and grabbed one of his sai, despite being sprawled on the rooftop.

Mikey felt like his head was going to explode. His hands were still gripping his nunchaku — the nunchaku his father had given him. Suddenly he couldn’t bear to hold them, and they slithered from his hands and clattered to the floor.

“I can’t,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t do this — I can’t be a part of this.”

“Mikey?” Angel asked.

“What’s he sayin’?” Raph said, confused.

“I can’t be part of the Foot Clan,” Mikey said, his voice growing hoarser. “I can’t — not if it makes us like them. After all we did — after everything they did to us —“

His thoughts seemed to be crumbling away into fragments, and the words in his mouth were doing the same. He turned away and ran blindly to the edge of the rooftop expanse, his mind seething with images of his father taking the katana from Karai. Memories of Donnie, bleeding and half-dead on the floor. Of the Gauntlet, and fighting furiously against the Foot mutants while the ninja sat silently watching, waiting for him to die.

It was wrong. It was all so, so wrong. How could Father do that? Why would he do that?

“Mikey!” Leo’s voice shouted behind him.

“Don’t follow me!” Mikey howled.

He sprang off the edge, and for a heart-stopping moment he was flying dozens of floors off the ground. Wind blasted his face and curled over his shell, and he could see the lights of the cars driving below twinkling like pale jewels against the dark streets.

Then he landed with a light thud on another roof platform a few floors down, one full of potted trees and cultivated flowers. He was panting as he looked around for a convenient door or window. He didn’t have any shuko with him, so he couldn’t just climb down the sheer walls — he would have to find a way inside the building, and then he could sneak down the stairwells and get out on the ground floor. And if any Foot ninja got in his way, he’d just have to fight his way past them —

“Mikey, wait up!” 

Leo again. Mikey turned around to see his blue-masked brother leaping down the same way he had, landing lightly in the shadow of a maple tree. “Mikey, what are you doing?” he said.

“Leaving,” Mikey said, his voice choking. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“Mikey, I know this is a shock—“

“I won’t be part of this!” Mikey erupted, clenching his fists. “I’m leaving, and there’s nothing you can do to change my mind.”

He spun around, turning his shell to Leo, and began walking swiftly towards the rooftop door. He could feel hot tears welling up in his eyes, and a part of him wished that Leo actually would try to stop him. He wouldn’t succeed — Mikey was too good a fighter for his brother to take down without hurting him — but he almost wished that he couldn’t go. As much as the idea of having anything to do with the Foot revolted him, dashing off into the dark, cold night was frightening. 

Especially on his own. He had never been alone before — he had always been with his brothers. He knew Raph had lived on the streets alone for more than a year, but he had never thought that one day it might happen to him too.

But as he held out his hand to the doorknob, Leo’s voice suddenly rose behind him.

“What about Donnie?”

Mikey stiffened, his hand still extended. “What — what about —“

“Donnie’s still on Burnow Island,” Leo said soberly. “I’m going there as soon as we get Raph patched up, to see if — if he’s doing any better. Don’t you want to see him?”

Mikey felt as though Leo had just ripped his heart open, even though he knew his brother hadn’t meant to hurt him. His head ducked down as he took a few shaky breaths, and his hand trembled on the knob. “That’s — that’s not fair,” he said.

Leo was silent. The only sound was the faint fluting whistle of wind blowing behind them, and the stirring of the leaves.

Finally Mikey turned back around, his face set in a stubborn expression. “Fine,” he said quietly. “I’ll come to Burnow Island. I — I want to make sure Donnie’s all right. But once I leave this place, I’m not coming back. I won’t be part of the Foot Clan.”

“I understand,” Leo said softly.


End file.
